Tapestry
by Sidewalk Doctor
Summary: When Lana receives a mysterious tapestry in the mail, she and Clark are transported back in time to the Middle Ages, where they must relive a tragic love story. Can they change history?
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

"Remind me again of why we took this course," Lana lamented as she and Clark strode across the quad of Kansas University, en route to their Survey of Medieval Literature class.

"Because it looks good on your resume," Clark replied. "And it's loads of fun."

"Oh, yes. Loads." Lana threw him a cynical look as she pulled open the door of Moore Hall.

"You've got to admit, Professor Arden is a real character."

"That's one way of putting it." The only thing that surpassed the tall, middle-aged professor's knowledge was his enthusiasm for the subject matter. On the first day of class, he strode to the front of the room and announced that the first order of business would be learning middle English because "translated texts are for wusses." He was big on student participation, and required everyone to do an oral presentation every two weeks on the reading. Lana spent more hours on this class than all her high school classes put together, but she had to admit she was learning a lot about the Middle Ages. She probably knew more random medieval factoids than most other sixteen-year-olds.

"He is one of the top medievalists in the academic world, on loan from Oxford," Clark went on.

"Makes me wonder why he came here."

He shrugged. "Beats me." He held the door open for Lana, who preceded him into the classroom. "Whatever his reason, it's our good fortune."

"It depends on how you define good fortune." And at that moment, it appeared that his definition of good fortune was striding down the hall toward them.

"Hey there, high school," a lilting, British-accented, and delightfully feminine voice greeted them.

"Oh, hey, Gillian." Clark was positively beaming at the willowy blonde standing in front of them. _Jeez, isn't she freezing in that outfit? _ Lana thought, surveying the other girl's low-cut velvet jeans and cropped sweater that revealed narrow strip of her toned midriff. Not the kind of thing you wear during April in Smallville. Not to mention that the AC in Moore Hall seemed perpetually set at sub-arctic.

"Aren't you cold?" Lana couldn't help but ask.

"Lana, I come from England. It's positively _tropical _ here in comparison."

Lana instantly decided it was a bad move to mention Gillian's outfit, considering that Clark was now paying even more attention to her appearance than before. She resisted the urge to offer him a tissue to wipe up the ribbon of drool threatening to escape his mouth.

"So are you all ready for your presentation?" Gillian asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Clark answered, with far too much perkiness for Lana's taste.

"This week's one wasn't as bad as the others."

"Yeah, it was cool."

"We were only at the Talon till one-thirty, as opposed to two," Lana made sure to mention.

Gillian arched an elegant golden eyebrow. "Do you two not like to sleep?"

"Who needs sleep when you have coffee and Chaucer?" Clark joked.

"Yep. Funny how time flies when you're not having fun." Lana added.

"Don't mind her, she doesn't operate too well without her eight hours," Clark explained.

"Don't worry, I understand," Gillian assured them. "It's hard enough to do a report as it is without the middle English to contend with. I take my hat off to you two, taking one of the most difficult freshman courses while you're still in high school."

"Yup, that's us, a couple of gluttons for punishment," Lana said.

"To be honest, I'm surprised your high school's honors program offered my father's class, seeing as it's a bit esoteric. You'd think they'd give you Intro to Psych or something."

"Actually, they did. It's just that Chaucer's infinitely cooler than Freud," Clark joked.

"Well, duh. I could've told you that." Gillian's eyes sparkled. One was azure blue, like her father's, and the other a warm vibrant brown.

"It's just such an honor to have your father come all the way out here from Oxford, the administration probably felt we should take advantage," Clark continued.

Lana smiled as natural a smile as she could, which wasn't easy when one was trying very hard to hold down one's lunch.

"So whatever brought the great Professor Arden to this little burgh, anyway?" Clark asked. "Kansas U is OK, but it's not exactly the Ivy League."

"It wasn't the school, actually," Gillian answered. "It was the meteor rocks. See, Father is overseeing an archeological dig in England, at the ruins of a grand old castle called Langdon. It's kind of off the beaten path, so there aren't a lot of tourists, which is why most people don't know about it. They've made some several incredible finds there. It's amazing those artifacts are in such great condition. Of particular interest is some weaponry containing this strange green gemstone. We'd never seen anything like it. Turns out the only other place in the world that has it is Smallville, Kansas."

"Wow," Lana remarked. "That's pretty wild."

"Yes, especially since there are no records of a meteor shower like the one you experienced," Gillian said. "Father is here doing research, hoping it might shed some light on a possible explanation."

"Gillian, you're not boring them with talk about the Langdon project, are you?" Professor Arden spoke up, frowning at them from behind his desk.

"Well, they asked," Gillian told him.

"It's OK, Professor Arden," Clark said. "It's really very interesting."

"I'm glad you think so, Mr. Kent," was the professor's response, "but I have to ask you three to postpone your conversation till after class. We have presentations to get through, and I've got a group project to assign."

Gillian groaned. "Dad, I already have a five-page paper and fifty pages of world history to read!"

"Good, you should be able to skip the medieval part." The professor made shooing motions with his hand. "Shoo! Sit down. I'm already running late."

They obediently filed to their seats as the professor approached his lectern.

"How come you never mentioned this Landon project before?" Clark asked Gillian.

She shrugged. "You never asked."

"I'd love to learn more about it.'

_Oh, Lord _, Lana thought. _Why don't you suggest getting coffee after class, you know, to learn more about the Langdon project? _

Clark shuffled his sneaker-clad feet nervously. "Um, Gillian, if you want to go to the student center or something, you know, after class..."

Lana's prodigious stack of books chose that moment to topple from her arms and hit the linoleum floor. Immediately all chatter ceased as ten heads swiveled toward the noise. "Oh, my God, I am such a klutz!" Lana exclaimed, immediately dropping to the floor to retrieve her books. Clark bent down as well, and they were soon made painfully aware of their heads' inability to occupy the same space at the same time.

"Owwww," Lana groaned, rubbing her head. "Are you all right?"

"I'll live." He rose awkwardly to his feet. "Here."

She regarded his outstretched hand dubiously for a moment, then realized that if she didn't take it he would surely conclude that something was wrong. What if he thought she was mad at him? What if he thought she was jealous of Gillian? She'd swallow nails before she did anything to even _imply _ such a ridiculous notion.

So she let him help her up. "Thanks," she muttered when she regained her balance, and wasted no time tugging her hand away. Dammit, why did her cheeks still feel so warm? It wasn't as if it was the first time she'd klutzed out in front of a group of people. It wasn't like she had anyone in this class to impress. And it _definitely _ wasn't because of the brief bodily contact with Clark Kent.

"Miss Lang, might I suggest a larger backpack?" Professor Arden asked, taking in the entire spectacle from behind his lectern. "And Mr. Kent, perhaps next time you might offer to carry some of the lady's books for her." He shook his head. "I swear young men these days have no concept of chivalry..."

"I'll try to be more chivalrous next time, Professor Arden," Clark promised.

"I appreciate the offer, but I think I can handle a few books," Lana told him.

"Great, glad we've got that solved," the professor remarked blandly. "Now, since you two seem to enjoy being the center of attention, perhaps you'd like to start us off with your presentation on _A Knight's Tale? _"

_Great, just great _, Lana thought, groaning inwardly. _Could this day suck any harder? _

She trudged to the front of the room like a prisoner condemned to the electric chair. Clark, on the other hand, was practically levitating across the room. It might have had something to do with the brilliant smile Gillian flashed him as she touched his arm and whispered, "Good luck." Lana had to admit to a perverse sense of satisfaction when he tripped over a protruding chair leg and stumbled.

At least the presentation went fairly painlessly. Lana managed to get through the middle English without mauling it too much. Too bad she couldn't say the same for Clark. He bumbled his way through his portion of the presentation before fleeing to his desk like a rat bailing from a sinking ship.

"Not bad, Miss Lang," the professor commented when it was over. "Work on that accent, Mr. Kent. Poor Mr. Chaucer is surely turning over in his grave."

Clark's face turned as red as his flannel shirt, but at least their classmates had the good graces not to giggle-well, not loudly, anyway.

"Gillian, you're next."

Gillian strode to the front of the room and, with a winsome cutesiness á la Cher in _Clueless _, gave her report on the Wife of Bath's Tale. Her middle English sounded as though she'd been speaking it since she first learned to talk-which, considering who her father was, she probably had. Lana felt sorry for whoever had to follow that act. The only good thing was, at least it wasn't her and Clark. She watched the rest of the presentations, encouraged by the fact that most of the college students didn't fare much better than she and Clark had. Then came the announcement of the big project.

"Our final project will be a ten-page paper on a primary medieval source other than _The Canterbury Tales _." The professor ignored the groans throughout the room and continued, "You will also give a ten-minute presentation in class. You must mention why you selected this text and what contribution it makes to the study of medieval history and literature. Presentations will be done on the last day of class. This assignment is worth twenty percent of your grade, so make it good. I want you to arrive next week with the text you intend to work on. Now pick your groups, and that's it for today."

_Finally, _ Lana thought. She turned to Clark. "Want to work together?"

"Sure," he replied with that effortless grin that still managed to make her insides to a funny fluttery thing despite how often she repeated to herself that she was over him. "We need a third person, though."

"Excuse me, but did I hear that you two need a third person?"

Lana's head snapped up from her notebook in time to see Gillian standing next to Clark's desk, belly-button ring glinting in the pallid fluorescent light.

"Uh... yeah. I did," Clark bumbled.

"Cool. Can I join your group?"

"Sure." Clark sounded like a first-grader who'd just heard the recess bell. "That would be great."

Lana found herself trying very, very hard not to smack Clark upside the head.

"Excellent. Will you be on campus tomorrow? I'd like to start the project as soon as possible. It's going to be a bear-trust me, I know."

"I believe you," he replied. "We can come after school."

"Great. I have a meeting of the Anachronism Society till four, but we can meet at the quad afterwards and head to the library."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Clark replied. "That work for you, Lana?"

"Works just fine for me."

"What is the Anachronism Society, anyway?" Clark wanted to know.

"You'll see," was Gillian's mysterious reply. She began gathering up her books. "Hate to bail on you, but I've got another class and it's all the way across campus. So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yep. Four o'clock. The quad," Clark said promptly.

"All right. See ya." Gillian took off, Clark's eyes following her graceful figure out the door.

_Well, _Lana thought dryly. _ I guess I was wrong before. _The day could _definitely _ suck harder.

It was late afternoon before Lana returned to the Sullivans' home. Exhausted, she stumbled through the door under her pile of books, eagerly anticipating changing into her favorite grungy sweats, breaking out some junk food and just chilling.

"Nell," she blurted out, startled by the familiar face she saw in the Sullivans' living room. "I didn't know you were coming!"

Depositing her books on the coffee table, she rushed over to give her aunt a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I wish I had some happier news," Nell replied, sorrow reflected in her eyes. "It's your great aunt, Lily. She passed away yesterday."

"Great Aunt Lily died?" Lana simply stood there for a moment, taking in the information. On one hand, it was hard to be too affected by Lily's death, since Lana barely knew her great aunt. Lily had been living in England for as long as she could remember. She had met her only twice, both times as a little girl. On the other hand, Lana was saddened by the death of a family member, even one with whom she was not particularly close.

"I'm so sorry, Lana," Chloe said sympathetically.

"She died peacefully, in her sleep, at her home in Hamstead Heath," Nell informed her.

"I'm glad she didn't suffer," Lana remarked.

"No, I imagine she didn't," Nell agreed. "I thought I'd come and tell you in person. But there's something else. We have a package for you. Apparently, Lily thought you were still living with me and sent it to my address. It just arrived yesterday."

"The same day she died," Lana commented. A strange chill came over her as she surveyed the small package sitting atop the coffee table.

"That is freaky," Chloe said, voicing Lana's thoughts.

Lana picked up the package with unsteady hands. "Anyone have a knife or something I can open this with?"

"I have one." Chloe handed her a pocket knife.

It occurred to Lana to wonder why Chloe carried a pocket knife, but her thoughts were soon diverted to her aunt's mysterious package. She neatly slit the tape and opened the box. A faint chemical smell, like mildew and mothballs, wafted out.

"Smells musty," Chloe observed.

"Wow... this must be really old." Lana lifted a worn piece of material gingerly from the box. "What is it, a blanket?"

"Actually, it looks like a tapestry." Chloe leaned closer, inspecting the tapestry. "Wow, this is incredible... look at the detail. The colors must've been really vibrant before they got all faded."

Lana peered at the tapestry, reluctant to handle it too much for fear of damaging it. From what she could see, figures had been painstakingly rendered with fine threads, probably real silk. Strands of gold thread glinted among the folds of material. "It is beautiful," Lana remarked. "But I wonder why Lily sent it to me."

"There's a note," Nell told her, handing Lana a neatly folded piece of paper.

Intrigued, Lana accepted the note and opened it. Chloe leaned eagerly over her shoulder as she read it silently.

_My dear grand-niece Lana, _

_I'm sure you're surprised to hear from me. I know you don't know me well, and it saddens me greatly that it had to be that way. Unfortunately, my health has deteriorated too much for travel, and I could never understand all those fancy new computer things. Seems none of you young people care to write letters anymore, what with e-mail and instant messengers and whatnot. I just want you to know how much I wish I could have known you, and to tell you about the gift I'm sending you. I've been getting a strange feeling as of late, and I sense that now is the time for me to pass it on. It's been passed down for generations, so far back I don't even know. Having no daughters of my own, you were the natural choice to inherit it. Perhaps you were the one it was meant for. I wish I could tell you more about it, but alas, this is all I know. Please treasure this gift as I have and all of our ancestors before me. Now it is your turn to finish the story. _

_Your great aunt, _

_Lily Thornton _

A chill slid down Lana's spine. It was strange to think that Lily had written this letter just days before her death. There was something so final about it.

"That's intense," Chloe murmured. "It's almost like she knew she was going to die."

"My grandmother always joked that Lily was clairvoyant," Lana remarked. "I never took it seriously."

"Maybe she was right," Chloe said. "It sounds like a real honor, getting this tapestry. I wish our family had something cool like that."

"I guess... I don't know, I'm just really weirded out," Lana told her. She carefully laid the tapestry back down it its box. "Today has to officially be the worst day ever."

"I can imagine. It must be a real blow, coming home from school to find out something like that," Chloe's dad said comfortingly. "If there's anything we can do for you..."

"Thanks, Mr. Sullivan. I appreciate it. But I think I'd just like to go to my room now."

"Why don't you do that? You look exhausted," Nell observed. "We can talk later tonight. I'm staying at the Smallville Inn till tomorrow."

"Thanks. I am really tired," Lana said.

"I bet," Chloe sympathized. "I just want you to know, if you ever want to talk, I'm here. You said it was the worst day ever. It might make you feel better to discuss it with someone."

Chloe was the last person on earth with whom Lana cared to discuss Clark. "Thanks, but it's no big deal... just a bunch of school crap. That medieval lit class is really kicking my butt."

"I imagine. You and Clark are up till all hours of the night for that class," Chloe's mother remarked.

"You must be a veritable medieval expert by now," Chloe kidded. "Maybe you and Clark could take a look at that tapestry. You might've learned something that could shed some light on it."

Lana regarded her dubiously. "You really think it's from the Middle Ages? That it somehow survived all these years without falling apart?"

"Hey, we live in Smallville. I'm beginning to believe nothing is impossible."

"You've got a point there." _Except for one thing, _she added silently. W _orking on a bitch of a final class project with my ex-boyfriend and his new love interest. _

_Maybe the Middle Ages weren't such a bad time to live in, after all, _ Lana mused. _I could marry a good-looking knight and wear cool clothes all day, maybe learn to fence. I'd live in a castle and have nothing to stress over, nothing to do but make beautiful tapestries like this one. _

With that comforting vision in mind, Lana adjourned to her room.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

"So tell me about this Gillian chick," Pete said as he and Clark walked through the hall at Smallville High.

"She seems nice," Clark answered. "She's smart. British. Cute."

"Do you mean cute as in, you know, _cute_, or cute as in _hot_?"

"I don't know… I guess she's pretty hot. She looks sort of like Jessica Simpson, only smart."

Pete looked at him as though he were dense. "So she's smart, British, and looks like Jessica Simpson. And you're wondering if you should go for it because…?"

Clark hesitated. "I don't know that she's interested in me."

"Well, does she act like it? Is she sending signals?"

"Maybe… she's very friendly, but she seems to act that way with everyone."

"Does she ever hint that she wants to spend any time with you, you know, one-on-one?"

Clark thought for a moment. "She did ask to join my group for a class project, but that could just be because everyone else already was in a group."

"Did _you_ ever ask _her_ if she wanted to do anything one-on-one?"

"I was going to, but we got interrupted… she was telling me about this project her father's involved in… they're excavating this medieval castle in England, and they found all these artifacts. It's really cool."

"Yeah, yeah." Pete dismissed the subject, apparently deeming it far less interesting than Gillian. "So I take it you never actually asked her?"

"No, but since we're doing the project together, I figured she'd have plenty of opportunities to tell me about it."

Pete nodded. "Smart move. Work the class project. So what else? Does she touch you a lot?"

"I suppose… but she might just be trying to get my attention."

Pete shook his head. "Man, for someone who gets so many girls, you sure are dense when it comes to women."

"Hey, you know how women are," Clark defended himself. "They're like calculus. You think you've got them figured out, then you act on it only to realize that you still have no idea what the hell is going on."

"Well, you have a point," Pete acknowledged, "but you'd think you'd be able to tell if she's interested."

"I know she likes me, as a friend if nothing else," Clark said. "But even if she was interested, she wouldn't go out with a high school guy. She's in college."

"So?" Pete countered. "Chicks dig younger men. Look at Demi and Ashton."

"That's different."

"Uh-huh." Pete's expression told him he wasn't buying a word of it. "I think you're just looking for an excuse."

"Now why would I do that?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Clark suddenly developed an intense interest in a row of lockers. "It's just that… I don't know if I'm _really_ that into her. I mean, she's cute and I like her, but I get the feeling that if we did go out it would be just having fun, you know?"

"So?" was Pete's response. "Not every date has to be about finding your soul mate." When he didn't get a reply he continued, "Look, I know the thing with Lana was intense. I understand about having a hard time moving on and all. But not every girl is Lana Lang. I think that 'just having fun'might be what you need right now."

Clark didn't look entirely convinced. "Maybe you're right."

"Of course I'm right. So, are you going to see Gillian this afternoon?"

"Yeah, to work on the project. But I have to give Lana a ride to the college."

"Wait a minute—Lana's in your group?"

"Yeah… didn't I tell you that?"

Pete shook his head. "Were you trippin' when you picked your group or what? I've gotta hand it to you, you've got a talent for getting yourself into scrapes that is unparalleled by anyone I've seen."

"Gee, thanks," Clark said sarcastically.

"Hey, if you're the one who orchestrated this brilliant plan, I've got no sympathy. I suggest you wait till after the project to make your move. That way, if she shoots you down, at least you won't have to see her every day."

"True," Clark acknowledged. His friend's advice _seemed_ perfectly sound. But in real life it was far more complicated than that. He didn't blame Pete for thinking he was crazy for doing a project with both Lana and Gillian. What had he been _thinking?_ But it was too late for regrets. He had thought he just needed to get through the project, sort out his feelings for Lana and Gillian, and decide where to go from there. But maybe he was going about it all wrong. No matter how long he spent trying to figure out the thing with Lana, he knew he never would. Maybe he was wrong about trying to stay friends. As long as he was around her, there would always be that _something,_ that undercurrent that seemed to make a mockery out of any semblance of casual friendship. Truthfully, it would be as natural as coming home to take her in his arms and kiss her as if their breakup had just been a bad dream. But he knew that if he did do that, he'd be in for a rude awakening.

_We were never right for each other,_ he concluded glumly. Someone had to put their ill-fated romance out of its misery.

In the locker room, guys often joked that the easiest way to get over one girl was to get over another one. Crude, but there might've been a grain of truth to it. Gillian might not be his soul mate, but she was fun, and they might be good together. In time, the feelings would fade and Lana would be just another beautiful girl.

Or so he liked to think.

---

Clark met Lana in the parking lot after school. He spotted her instantly, trained by his many years of nursing an unrequited crush. But then, it could also be because whenever she appeared, some instinctive part of him seemed to sense her, and everything and everyone else became irrelevant. He leaned against his truck, squinting in the sunlight and watching as she bounded down the steps toward him.

"Thanks for the ride, Clark," she said when she reached him, hefting her heavy backpack over the seat.

"Let me take that." He took the backpack and groaned. "Jeez, what's _in_ this thing?"

"I wasn't sure what to bring, so I brought everything."

Clark made a show of laboring to lift the backpack over the seat, although in truth it might as well have been filled with feathers. Except for the short time he'd lost his powers, he really didn't have any sense of how strong a "normal" guy was. Most of the time he just tried to guess.

He started the ignition. "Oh, I love this song!" Lana exclaimed, turning up the volume. "Do you remember, it was playing…" Her voice trailed off.

He remembered, all to well. "That time after the homecoming dance, at lookout point…"

She just nodded. A long, awkward silence stretched between them. After a moment he changed the station.

"What's that?" he asked, noticing the small shopping back she held in her lap.

"It's kind of interesting story," she replied, clearly grateful for the change of subject. "My great aunt Lily sent it to me, only a few days before she died. It came to Nell's house the other day. It looks like some kind of tapestry. Apparently it's been passed down for generations."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear about your aunt."

Lana peered outside the window. "I hardly knew her. She'd been living in England as long as I can remember. That's why I thought it was odd she left this tapestry to me, of all people. But she never had any daughters, so I guess it makes sense. Still, I wish she'd sent it to me earlier, so I could have contacted her about it. I would've liked to know more about it. She sent a note, but it doesn't say much."

"Hmm," Clark said. "How old do you think it is?"

"I'm not sure, but it looks _really_ old. Chloe thought it might be from the Middle Ages. Aunt Lily didn't say how far back it went."

"The Middle Ages, eh?" An idea came to him. "Are you going to show it to Gillian? Maybe she could tell you something about it."

At the mention of Gillian, Lana seemed to clam up. "I thought I'd bring it with us, you know, do some research in the library or something. But I suppose if Gillian's willing to help, I can't turn her down."

"She's super-smart when it comes to all things medieval. Look at her Dad."

"Yup, I'm sure he trained her well." Lana started fidgeting with the handle of the shopping bag. "But the project is our first priority. I wouldn't want to distract her."

"I bet she'd be fascinated with that tapestry."

"I bet," Lana muttered.

They arrived at the university then, and Clark stopped to show the parking attendant his temporary parking permit. The subject temporarily lapsed as they walked to the quad, making meaningless small talk. For the first time he noticed what she was wearing—a fuzzy pink sweater and jeans so low-cut he wondered if she'd bought them while she'd been under the influence of the Nicodemus flower. Not that he was complaining. A small strip of tanned, flat midriff was visible between the waistband of the jeans and the sweater, which for some reason he found more tempting than if she'd been wearing a bikini. Apparently he wasn't the only one to notice. Lana seemed blissfully unaware of the stares she attracted from all the college boys. Clark tried to ignore the surge of hot temper that swelled in him. but he couldn't help but send a murderous look in the direction of a group of leering sweatshirt-clad frat boys.

His attention was soon diverted however, by the spectacle in the quad. A group of students were gathered in a tight circle, cheering and whistling at the two people in its middle. The group immediately stood out in that many of them were dressed in tunics, hose, and various other forms of medieval garb. Others wore normal street clothes, but didn't seem to think it the least bit odd that they were standing with people who apparently thought they were extras in _Lord of the Rings._

Intrigued, Clark and Lana maneuvered their way through the crowd, wondering what all the fuss was about. They soon found out. Two boys were engaged in a spirited fencing match, one of them of average height and build, the other slightly shorter and lankier. To Clark's surprise, he saw that the smaller boy had gained the advantage. The boy struck and parried ruthlessly, driving his opponent further back and forcing errors on his part. Finally, he sensed a split-second hesitation on his opponent's part and lunged, catching his sword and twisting, effectively disarming him. Clark heard Lana gasp as metal flashed through the air and came to a trembling stop in front of the defeated boy's throat. The victor smiled triumphantly. "You're dead, Jason, dear."

The boy named Jason held up his hands, but he was grinning. "So I am. Say we make it two out of three?"

The other boy shook his head. "I don't think so. You're buying me a bitter at the campus pub, and don't try to get out of it."

Wait a minute—that voice sounded strikingly familiar! And when the tunic and hose-clad boy lowered his hood, the gleaming golden braid and distinctly feminine features betrayed his—or should he say her—true identity.

"An excellent match, Jason," Gillian said, touching him gently, and undeniably flirtatiously, on the arm, in much the same way she'd touched Clark in class the other day. But strangely, he found he felt more amused than jealous. Gillian was something else!

"Is there anything she doesn't do?" Clark murmured.

"Why am I not surprised?" was Lana's response, and he could have sworn he caught a mocking edge to her voice.

Gillian noticed them standing on the sidelines and waved, breaking into a wide grin. "Hey, you guys made it!"

"Yup," Clark said, returning her smile. "That was some match, Gillian. I didn't know you could fence like that!"

Gillian smiled modestly. "I've been fencing since high school. I love it."

"I could tell. So is that what the Anachronism Society does? Re-enact medieval stuff?"

"Basically," Gillian answered. "We have jousting tournaments, too. In fact, I'm learning to joust. Only problem is, I'm the only girl and smaller than most of the guys, so I had to have a special lance made for me. It's a bit lighter, but one day I'm going to use the same lance as the boys. I've got to prove that we birds can hold our own, right, Lana?"

"Right." Lana smiled stiffly.

"You two are welcome to join in," Gillian offered. "We have fencing lessons every Friday afternoon, all levels."

"Actually, that sounds kind of fun," Clark commented.

"I bet you'd be good. I tend to be quicker because I'm small and slim, but I'm sure you'd make up for it in strength." She eyed his broad shoulders and well-muscled arms.

Lana retained an absolutely deadpan expression.

Clark squirmed under Gillian's gaze. He wasn't sure why, if it was because she made him nervous or because Lana was right there. "I'll think about it."

"Well, not to be a wet blanket here but we've got a project to do," Lana jumped in. "Shall we head to the library?"

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Gillian agreed. "I've a couple of ideas for sources and I thought I'd run them by you first. But I must admit nothing's really grabbed me yet."

"Well, I'm afraid we know about as much about medieval lit as we know about fencing," Clark confessed. "Oh, which reminds me. Lana has something she wants to show you."

Lana shot him a dark look, but he barely had time to wonder about it before she produced the tapestry. "I thought since you know a lot about the Middle Ages, you might be able to tell me something about this. My great aunt left it to me."

Openly curious, Gillian peered at the tapestry. Her odd-colored eyes widened as she looked it over, running her fingers carefully, reverently along the fabric. "This is amazing… wherever did your great aunt get it?"

"I don't know. She said it's been passed down through the family for generations, but she doesn't know how far back it goes."

"Look at the detail… these gold threads… I'm willing to bet this is no replica. If it really is medieval, it's got to be _priceless_. However is it in such good shape?"

Lana shrugged. "Don't ask me. I have no clue."

"Judging by the costumes on these people, I'd say it's late twelfth, perhaps early thirteenth century," Gillian deduced. "This is your standard medieval story of chivalry…so sad and tragic."

"I know," Lana agreed. The tapestry contained a short series of frames, like a medieval comic book. The first frame showed a knight wooing a lady. Next, the knight and lady were seen escaping from a burning castle. The third frame showed the knight facing an opponent, the lady watching in horror as they fought over her. In the final frame, the lady knelt over the still body of her lover, a lone blue tear flowing from her eye.

"Did you notice that it's unfinished?" Gillian asked. She indicated the raw edge below the last frame. "I wonder what happened to whoever made it."

"I guess we'll never know."

"Do you mind if I show this to my father?" Gillian questioned. "He'll go crazy if it's what I think it is."

Lana shrugged. "If you think he'll be able to tell us something about it."

They set out for Moore Hall. The English department offices were located on the third floor, and Gillian bounded up the stairs so fast you'd think she was in a race. The door to Professor Arden's office was open, and the three of them filed in together. The room looked every bit the typical English professor's office, from the shelves stuffed with fat tomes to the desk covered with stacks of students' papers. All sorts of art and photography adorned the walls, from reproductions of brightly-colored, cartoonish medieval paintings to photographs of castles and other European architecture. The professor's other décor also included political cartoons and _Far Side_ strips, not surprising given his dry, witty sense of humor.

Clark noticed several photos of what appeared to be the same castle, and was struck by how magnificent the structure was. It looked like something straight out of a medieval fantasy epic. It rose like a massive, gray stone sentry from the verdant landscape, surrounded by lush green forest and a placid, silvery moat.

Accompanying the photos was a rough illustration of the castle as it must have appeared in its day. During class, the professor had given the students a crash course on Castle 101, so Clark recognized much of the architectural features. The castle was shaped roughly like a rectangle, with an outer defense wall easily as thick as the office was wide. The drawbridge passed under this wall and through a gatehouse, flanked by two towers. Murder holes in the wall enabled defenders to fire arrows at invaders or to dump pots of boiling oil on them. If invaders somehow managed to make it past this wall, they would cross the outer bailey to the inner defense wall, which was every bit as thick and formidable as the outside one. The only way into the inner bailey was via an archway, which could be sealed off with a thick wood portcullis. Inside this inner wall stood the chapel and the keep, where the lord and his family resided. The Great Hall was also located there, a sort of all-purpose room where the castle's occupants took their meals and where the lord entertained guests. The Great Hall was where the lord could show off his wealth and prowess, and was often the most lavishly decorated room in the castle.

Outside the castle's walls lay a village. Little remained of it in the recent photographs, but according to the professor's illustration, it was once quite large and bustling. _This place must've been really something in its day_, Clark reflected. If only there were some way to open a portal into the past and see what it really looked like. But alas, no one would ever be able to know that. The closest they could come would be through the hard work of historians, reconstructing what hundreds of years had time to erase.

"Ah, Gillain, Mr. Kent, Miss Lang," the professor greeted them, looking up from the fat volume he had been perusing. "What brings you here?"

"Lana has something to show you." Gillian stepped aside as Lana handed the professor the tapestry.

Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his blue eyes widened considerably. "Where did you get this?"

Lana gave him a brief rundown of how she'd come to acquire the tapestry.

"My goodness, Miss Lang… are you aware of the value of this tapestry? If historians ever got their hands on it…"

"So it's real?" she asked.

"Either that, or a damn good replica. But I'd bet my last dollar it's the real thing. I can't tell when it was made, but it definitely looks medieval. The costumes on the people appear to be from the twelfth or thirteenth century, but you can't really tell from that. It could have been made later and depicted a story that happened in the past. I'm afraid the only way to tell for sure is by carbon dating. If you really want to know when this tapestry was made, I could send it to Langdon and have it analyzed."

Lana was surprised by the professor's generosity. "Wow… you would really do that for me?"

"Well, I do admit to a slight ulterior motive." The professor regarded her wryly. "I noticed right away that this tapestry is very similar to some other tapestries we found at the site. It's quite possible it was done by the same artist."

Lana's eyes widened. "So you're saying it could've been made by one of my ancestors?"

"It's a possibility—a very narrow possibility. But I wouldn't get my hopes up. It would be next to impossible to track anyone's lineage that far back, and besides, your ancestor could've come upon it in any number of ways. I can't even be sure it's connected to Langdon at all. However, the story it depicts sounds very similar to one we came across in our research."

"Yes, I remember that!" Gillian spoke up excitedly. "I'm kind of unclear on the details, but it came to mind when I first saw he tapestry."

"So what is the story?" Lana wanted to know. "Would it be too much trouble to tell us, Dr. Arden?"

"Certainly not. I wish all my students took such interest in the Langdon project." The professor gestured toward the photos Clark had been looking at earlier. "Have a seat, you two. It's going to be a long one."


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Clark and Lana sank down on the two chairs opposite the professor's desk. Gillian sat on the desk, leaning casually on her arm and crossing her long legs. Her hose clung to every graceful curve, making Clark wonder how he ever thought she was a boy.

"During the excavation, some of my students found a memoir written by Christopher of Whitley," the professor began. "He was lord of the castle from about 1210 to 1239, when he passed away and was succeeded by his son. He acquired the property though marriage to Lianne of Langdon, who apparently had quite the exciting life.

"Judging by the historical backdrop, I'm guessing the story takes place at the turn of the century, 1203 or1204. It was before King John lost his French holdings to Philip Augustus. You are familiar with Angevin England, right?"

Seeing Clark and Lana's blank looks, Gillian took it upon herself to explain. "By the end of the twelfth century, England had acquired holdings throughout northern and western France. The French king, Philip Augustus, had been seeking to win the lands back, but was unable to make any headway against the strong English kings Henry and Richard. When Richard died in 1199, his brother, John Lackland, took the throne. John was a far weaker king than Richard, and managed to piss off both the pope and the French king. To give you the cliff notes version, Philip was finally able to wrest his lands back from John. By the end of 1204 John had lost all of his French holdings but Gascony and parts of Poitiers."

"Well, you're a walking encyclopedia," Lana remarked.

Gillian shrugged, a dry smile across her face. "What can I say? I've had this stuff drilled into my head since I was little. I can't help it if I'm fascinated with the Middle Ages. They were quite an exciting time."

"Sounds like it," Lana agreed. She turned to the professor. "So what happened to Lianne?"

"Lianne's father, Henry, was a wealthy and powerful baron with holdings in Brittany as well as Langdon," the professor said. "These were acquired through marriage to Sandrine de Beauvais, Lianne's mother. Lianne spent much of her childhood in Brittany until she came to England at the age of sixteen to live as ward to Lord Bedford, father of Robin, to whom she had been betrothed since age twelve. Henry planned to see her married to Robin on her eighteenth birthday.

"Unfortunately, before the couple could be wed, war broke out in France. Both Henry and Robin were in Brittany at the time, defending their holdings. Henry was killed in the service of King John. Lianne's brother, William, was supposed to have inherited Langdon, but William had died on the fourth crusade. Upon William's death, Henry arranged for Langdon to pass on to Lianne's husband. But Robin died as well, of complications from his battle wounds. Lianne's cousin, Anne de Beauvais, was sent to Langdon to relay the news.

"Lianne was devastated by her father's death. Unsure of what would become of her now that Robin had died, she immediately fled to Langdon with Anne. Judging by Christopher's memoir, she was a strong, willful young woman, and refused to lose her property. But unfortunately, women were of no consequence in those days—not being anti-feminist, ladies, just telling like it is. Upper-class women had few choices but to marry or take the veil. Their livelihoods and lives depended on the whims of men. Sad, but such was life in those days.

"Now that Henry was out of the way, Lothar of Blackwood, a vassal of Henry's, set his sights on Langdon. Blackwood was greedy, ambitious, and opportunistic, and had once sought to inherit Henry's lands through marriage to Lianne. He offered for her, but Henry refused him. It was surprising that Henry chose Bedford instead, as Bedford had far less power and wealth than Blackwood. But the fact that he did so suggests that Henry did not fully trust Blackwood.

"When the news of both Henry and Robin's deaths arrived, Blackwood saw his chance. He had a powerful new weapon--Sir Kendrick de Montclair, a knight-errant currently in his employ. According to Christopher, very little was known about De Montclair. Some reports said he was from Aragon, while others say he was Italian. He supposedly rose from humble origins to become a renowned fighter, amassing gold in tournaments all over the continent and building something of a Hercules-like reputation. He was said to have the strength of ten men, to run faster than birds can fly, and to ignite objects just by looking at them."

Clark worked very hard to keep his expression neutral. "That's some story. They have to be exaggerating."

"I'm not so sure," was Henry's reply. "Many knights had extraordinary strength—I've heard of one who could turn a somersault in his armor. These men were trained for war all their lives. They were probably amazing athletes, every bit as good as anyone you see in the Olympics."

"So what happened?" Lana asked.

"Blackwood proposed to Lianne again, and she refused. So Blackwood sent de Montclair to watch her, make sure she didn't try to flee, while he attended to an urgent matter overseas. He warned her that if she had not changed her mind by his return, he would invade Langdon. He came back to find her every bit as adamant as when he'd left. He took de Montclair back to Blackwood with him and planned his attack.

"In the meantime, de Monclair and Lianne had fallen in love. De Montclair intended to betray his lord for her, but was unable to warn her in time. Blackwood's far superior army attacked and soon overwhelmed Langdon's forces. But at some point during the battle, de Montclair apparently helped Lianne escape. A furious Lothar conducted a search for the traitor. Upon finding him, he challenged him to a duel, with Lianne as the prize.

"De Montclair wanted to send Lianne to a convent to keep her safe, but she refused to leave his side. The duel was fought the next morning. Most people thought Blackwood was crazy to take on de Montclair, so imagine their shock and grief when de Montclair actually lost. No one is sure how that happened. All they know is that he died in Lianne's arms, and Blackwood hauled her off to his castle where he held her prisoner until they could be wed.

"Now here's the interesting part. Apparently de Montclair had an ally in Blackwood, for it was said one of Blackwood's knights turned traitor and Blackwood was killed in the skirmish. Lianne somehow escaped, likely aided by Anne. No one is sure of her whereabouts in the following years. Likely Anne took her to France. Anne's father, the Compte de Beauvais, had some holdings in Poitiers where they could have been granted asylum.

"Langdon reverted to the king upon Blackwood's death. Lianne eventually turned up in Gascony, where she met and married Christopher of Whitley. Whitley then became the new lord of Langdon. He and Lianne returned to England and lived what seems to have been a peaceful life together. They had two children, a son and a daughter. Their graves were found side-by-side in a small cemetery behind the chapel."

"Wow… that's some story. So sad," Lana murmured. "But what about Kendrick? Is he buried there as well?"

"The team at Langdon never found a grave, anything to indicate that de Montclair was buried there or that he had had ever been there at all. Perhaps he was buried at Blackwood, or taken back to his home, wherever that was. It may be that de Montclair will forever remain what he was back then—a mystery."

"What an incredible story," Gillian said quietly. "That memoir of Christopher's is a real find."

"I'll say," her father agreed. "The lives those medievals led… it was a hard life back then, so full of tragedy."

"I know," Lana agreed. Her eyes appeared slightly damp. "I can't believe Lianne would marry someone else, after what happened with Kendrick. I mean, if he was her true love…"

"Lana, you must understand that marriage wasn't necessarily about love in those days," the professor said. "For the upper classes, marriage was more often about power, money, or alliances. As a woman, Lianne had little say in her fate. She could never have survived alone, short of becoming a nun. I doubt she loved Robin. Judging by Christopher's account, she barely knew the man."

"And she agreed to marry him anyway?"

"She probably felt it her duty," the professor explained. "Or perhaps she found it better than the alternative. Either way, her story shows what a smart, strong woman she was. How much she endured. She did what she had to to survive."

"At least it's somewhat of a happy ending," Gillian pointed out. "It seems like she and Christopher were happy together."

"I guess," Lana said, but the story's ending still left her vaguely dissatisfied. "I just find it hard to imagine she'd give up on Kendrick so easily."

"Maybe she didn't give up on him," Clark spoke up. "Maybe she realized that he was gone forever, and that she had to go on. I imagine it wasn't easy for her."

"I never said it was," Lana pointed out. "I've just always thought that once you find true love, the heart doesn't heal so easily. There's always a part of that person in there."

"I won't argue with that," Clark said, "but if that person's lost to you forever, you can't go on living in the past."

"Maybe some people just never get over it. How can you give your whole heart to someone else when the person you lost still has it?"

"Because you're left with no choice," Clark murmured.

Lana looked ready to say something, but the professor interrupted. "Well, I'm afraid I've told you all that I know. Lana, I can still send out that tapestry if you'd like."

She hesitated a moment. Finally she said, "I really appreciate the offer, Dr. Arden, but I just don't feel right about it… not that I don't trust you, but Aunt Lily gave it to me, and I feel I should keep it with me. In honor of her memory, I guess."

The professor nodded. "I understand. But if you ever change your mind, the offer still stands."

"Thank you, Dr. Arden."

"Hey, before we go, Dad, I have a question for you," Gillian spoke up. "Do you think we could use Christopher's memoir as our primary source? If you've got a copy somewhere…"

"It's on my hard drive. I'll print it out for you."

"So that means we can use it?"

Her father sighed, but he was smiling. "I should've known you had an ulterior motive for coming here. But sure, you can use it. Just let me print it out."

"Oh, thank you!" Gillian engulfed the professor in a tight hug, which seemed to make him comfortable. "Gillian, dear, you're starting to become American. Remember, we don't hug. We're British."

"Of course, Dad." With a crooked smile, Gillian straightened up and watched as her father's printer began to spit out sheet upon sheet of middle English.

Well, it had been a most interesting day indeed.

Several hours and cups of coffee later, Clark, Lana, and Gillian unanimously decided to call it a night.

"Clark, would you be a dear and give me a ride home?" Gillian asked as they gathered up their books. "Dad's already left… that was the call I got on my cell earlier. I told him I'd be able to bum a ride with you."

"No problem," said Clark easily. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but we'll manage, right, Lana?"

Lana managed to smile. "Right."

The three of them set out for Clark's truck, which stood like a squat red pony in the pale wash of the parking lot's floodlights. Lana shivered in the chilly air, pulling her coat more tightly around her. It was an especially dark, cool evening, the breeze bringing with it a bite suggesting that winter wasn't quite ready to relinquish its hold.

"New moon tonight," Gillian remarked. Lana shivered again. She didn't consider herself a particularly superstitious person, but something about the way Gillian said it made it sound ominous.

She was grateful when they reached the truck. Piling their books in the back, they climbed in awkwardly. Clark wasn't kidding about it being a tight squeeze. Lana was crushed against the door, with Gillian pressed against her other side. Gillian sat in the center, her long legs straddling the gear shift and her hose-clad thigh pressed up against the seam of Clark's jeans. As he reached down to shift gears, his hand brushed Gillian's calf.

"Getting frisky there, eh, high school?" Gillian joked, and in the dim lighting Lana swore she saw Clark blush.

It was going to be a long ride.

Gillian chattered breezily as they navigated the darkened streets of Smallville, pausing only to switch radio stations, which she did about every two minutes. It really began to get on Lana's nerves. Also, every bump caused the door handle to dig deeper into her ribs, and she was sure she'd be black and blue by the time she got home.

She never thought she'd be so glad to see the Sullivans' house. She noticed that Chloe's light was out, and silently thanked God. At least one thing was going right this evening.

"Thanks for the ride, Clark," she mumbled when the truck sputtered to a stop in front of the Sullivans' driveway. She was sure by now that she'd lost all feeling in her right side.

"Don't mention it," Clark said. "Want some help with your books?"

"Nah, I can handle it." So what if her backpack caused her spine to compress a couple of inches? She was just eager to get home and put this day out of its misery ASAP.

"OK…." He didn't look entirely convinced. Lana avoided his eyes as she hefted her backpack over the seat and stumbled from the truck. Dammit, she _had_ to wear her high-heeled boots today. She tripped and stumbled into the Sullivans' fence.

"You sure you don't need help?" Clark called after her.

"I'm fine." She didn't turn around. Face on fire, she focused all her energy on traversing the Sullivans' driveway as quickly as possible.

Clark waited until she got in safely before pulling away. She watched the flash of his headlights out the window as the truck moved out of view, and she swore she still heard Gillian's silvery laughter chasing after her like a mocking poltergeist.

_Why is this bothering me so much?_ she thought grouchily, navigating the stairs as quietly as possible, as not to wake Chloe or her parents. _Clark and I are ancient history. We both agreed to see other people. _

But why did the person he chose to see have to be so pretty… or so nice… or so freakin' _perfect? _What girl could rattle off random medieval facts on a dime and beat a boy in fencing? What girl learned to joust and made tights and hose look sexier than the most daring designer evening gown?

Damn Gillian. Damn Clark. Damn medieval lit course. Lana's mood deteriorated even further as she got ready for bed and finally climbed beneath the covers. She was exhausted, but once her head hit the pillow, sleep evaded her. Conflicting thoughts swirled around her head in a senseless, chaotic dance. The professor said those medievals lived hard lives. But she couldn't say much for the twenty-first century, either.

_How am I going to get through this project, this week, this night?_ She glanced out the window at the moonless night. A pale shaft of the streetlight's artificial luminescence fell across the tapestry, which lay draped over the back of her desk chair. Who would have thought such a seemingly innocuous object would complicate her life so much?

_Now it is your turn to finish the story._ Her great aunt's words echoed in her head. She had no idea what it meant. Was she supposed to finish the tapestry? Which was ridiculous, considering she knew nothing about weaving and that home ec hadn't been her forte. But what else could it possibly mean?

Those thoughts became more and more muddled as sleep gradually stole over her. She was grateful when it found her at least, and dove eagerly into the dark mist of sleep.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Lana awoke with a pounding headache. Rolling over, she opened her eyes. Blinding sunlight assaulted her vision, and she quickly squeezed her eyes shut. Wait a minutewhy was there sunlight in her room? She'd left her curtains open, but the sun wouldn't shine like that, right in her eyes… and for that matter, why was she lying on cold, hard ground instead of in her bed?

She opened her eyes again, wincing as pain lanced her head. She felt the back of it and found a slight raised bump. Swell. Did she fall off the bed or something?

Of course, that still didn't explain why she was lying on the ground outdoors. She surveyed her surroundings, and it soon became apparent she must be having some bizarre dream. She was lying in a forest, obviously nowhere near Smallville since there weren't any forests within a hundred-mile radius of the place. The air felt different, toocrisper, clearer, with an edge that was never present at home, especially not this time of year.

Lana slowly raised herself to a sitting position. The accompanying rustle of fabric alerted her the she wasn't wearing her pajamas anymore. She was dressed in what looked like a medieval gown, colored a deep burgundy and made of a lustrous, expensive-looking fabric. _Why, this is real silk!_ she observed, running her fingers over the fabric. She didn't think she'd ever worn _anything_ made of real silk. This gown must've been obscenely expensive!

She also noticed a dagger tucked into her belt and a small purse that contained nothing but a few unrecognizable bold pieces. She couldn't help but be in awe of the resplendent, jewel-encrusted hilt of the dagger and the dazzling rings adorning her slim fingers. She had a sneaking suspicion those weren't rhinestones.

"Lana? Is that you?" Lana glanced up to see Gillian walking toward her, concern etched across her fair face. She was wearing a gown similar to Lana's, only hers was a deep shade of green.

"Gillian? What are you doing here?" Lana asked, rubbing her forehead. Man, if she was going to have a weird dream, couldn't it have at least included some Tylenol?

"I could ask the same of you."

"Well, you'd get the same answer… beats the hell out of me." Slowly she staggered to her feet. Her head seemed to clear a bit and the sunlight didn't hurt quite so much. "I take it you have no idea where we are, either, or why we're dressed like actors at Medieval Times?"

"One thing for sure, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," was Gillian's dry answer. "We're in England, I can tell that much. I recognize my homeland. But what part of England, I don't know. To an extent all these forests look the same."

"Yeah, you could say the same about the cornfields back home." Lana dusted off her skirt and smoothed her hair. "Is this some bizarre reenactment by the Anachronism Society or something?"

"No, because those blokes are way too cheap to give us real silk gowns," Gillian said. "We get some rayon/acetate crap. And they zip up the back. This gown laces up. No zippers or buttons in sight."

Lana had just realized that as well. "I wonder if the coffee guy slipped something in my latte," she muttered. "This is one messed-up dream."

"Yeah, well, whatever he slipped in your coffee, I must've gotten it, too," Gillian remarked. "I don't know about you, but this is awfully detailed for a dream. I don't think I've ever noticed what my clothes are made of."

"Me, too," Lana admitted. She didn't remember this kind of detail in any of her dreams. Looking around, she noticed everything, from the distinct pine smell to the warbling bird calls to the various noises of forest creatures going about their daily routines. And she was struck by the lack of any sound of modern technology. No cars, to airplanes, nothing to indicate they were anywhere near civilization.

"Well, whether we're dreaming or not, we'd better figure out what's going on," Gillian said. "Just a few hours ago I was peacefully sleeping in my own bed, and then I woke up slumped over the saddle of a horse I'd never seen before."

"At least you didn't wake up with a pounding headache and a lump on the back of your head," Lana pointed out. "I must've fallen off my horse or something."

"OK, so we were going for a ride in the country, dressed like a couple of medievals. But I really want to know where I got this gown and jewelry from, and how much I paid for it. It rules, man."

"How can you think about clothes at a time like this?" Lana scanned the forest for a road, some sort of trail, anything that might lead them back to civilization. There seemed to end in sight to this interminable forest. She and Gillian were definitely lost.

"Wait a sec, I heard something," Gillian said. Lana stood still. A moment later, she heard a rustling sound in the underbrush. Gillian's hand edged toward the hilt of her dagger. Lana did the same, even though she hadn't the vaguest idea how she intended to use it.

It happened before she and Gillian could react. An arrow whistled past Lana's ear and buried itself in a tree trunk. Lana screamed. Gillian drew her dagger.

A crew of brigands burst out of the underbrush, malicious grins across their dirty, gap-toothed faces. A man who appeared to be their leader stepped forward. He was big and burly, with a matted beard and thick, frizzy red hair. "Methinks we found a couple of rich ladies," he drawled, eyeing Lana up and down. "That gown would look lovely on my wife."

At least that's what Lana thought he said, since it took her moment to realize he was speaking middle English.

_What the hell was going on?_

"Run!" Gillian exclaimed, bringing Lana back to her senses with a jolt. The two of them turned and raced heedlessly through the forest, not thinking about where they were going, just getting as far away as possible. Lana did not dare look back. Twigs and leaves scratched her face and tore at her clothing, but she barely noticed. Even with all the scrapes she'd gotten into in the past, she'd never felt such sheer, raw terror before. She didn't know where she was how she got there, and she might die before she ever figured it out!

Lana finally hazarded a glance over her shoulder, but could see nothing behind her but trees. Bad mistake. For when she turned around again, a man burst out of the bushes brandishing a sword. He advanced toward her, his dull eyes burning with deadly intent.

Lana skidded to a stop. Her breath scorched her throat, her heart pounding so fiercely it threatened to overwhelm her. She backed up one step, then another, until her back bumped against a tree trunk.

Her pursuer grinned. "Nowhere to run, gel… now come over real nice and easy like, and I'll make it quick."

All of a sudden the man stopped short, emitting an odd gurgling sound before his eyes glazed over and he crumpled in a lifeless heap at her feet. Lana shrieked and danced aside. She gazed in horror at the dagger protruding from his back, then glanced up to see Gillian regarding the body grimly. "Looks like I got something out of the Anachronism Societyspeak softly and know how to throw a knife."

Lana was still shaking. "Youyou just killed him!"

"Yeah, and he would've killed you if I didn't get to him first," said Gillian bluntly. "They're _routiers_brigands that hide in the forest and rob any travelers unlucky enough to pass by. They wouldn't hesitate to kill for loot."

Lana shuddered. "This is a nightmare."

"No, it's the Middle Ages," Gillian said matter-of-factly. "Don't ask me how we got here, but either we're both having the same dream, or we've just experienced time travel."

"That's impossible."

"The evidence, it would seem, is to the contrary. But we'll worry about that later. Right now, we've got to get out of here before his friends arrive."

Just then, Lana heard the sounds of several people crashing through the underbrush. She wasted no time running after Gillian. She was exhausted, lungs burning and legs threatening to give out, but she knew that if she stopped it would mean death for sure. Soon she and Gillian came upon what appeared to be a small gully, a fallen tree spanning its width. They immediately started toward it.

Gillian made it across without incident, leaping safely to the other side. Lana did not fare so well. She was halfway across the log when her foot slid on a particular slippery patch of moss, and she found herself fighting to retain her balance.

"Lana!" Gillian yelled. An arrow whistled past her and buried itself in a tree trunk. Gillian ducked as another shaft flew toward them.

Lana stood frozen, afraid to move for fear of falling. A sickening crack sounded as the rotting wood began to give way beneath her feet.

_So this is it_, Lana thought, steeling herself. She'd managed to live through so many close shaves in the past. In the back of her mind she always worried that sooner or later her luck would run out. Looked like that time had finally arrived.

They say before you die your life flashes before your eyes. But oddly, there was only one thought racing through her mind: _Clark, where are you?_

"My lord, wake up! I think something's happening."

Clark tried to shut out the insistent voice. It was so comfortable here. He was lying on what felt like a soft, grassy plateau, the sun warm upon his face and the quiet sounds of the forest lulling him to sleep like a lullaby. He could stay here forever…

"My lord! Sir Kendrick!"

Fingers closed around his arm and tugged insistently. Reluctantly, Clark opened his eyes and scowled. "This better be good."

Stooped over him was a boy of about fourteen, with a pale complexion and a shock of messy brown hair. "What say you, my lord? I'm afraid I don't understand you."

It took a moment before Clark understood _him._ Why was the kid speaking in middle English? And for that matter, why was he dressed like a member of Gillian's Anachronism Society?

_I'm just having some weird dream_, he concluded._ Last time I do homework right before bed._

"I know you wanted to take your nap, but I heard something a moment ago," the boy rushed on. "I think there may be _routiers_ about."

What the hell were _routiers?_ Whatever they were, they didn't sound good. "Uhh… routiers?"

"Aye, roughly a score of them, perhaps. I could've sworn I heard a lady scream."

Clark became alert. "A lady is in danger?"

"Possibly. We must make haste, if it is indeed so."

"Lead the way." Clark scrambled to his feet. It was then that he noticed what he was wearing: a brown tunic over some kind of undershirt, beige hose, and leather shoes with ridiculously pointy toes. He also wore a leather belt and scabbard, and he was willing to bet the blade it contained wasn't one of the blunted props in the university's theater department.

The boy stole through the forest with remarkable stealth, weaving among the trees as though he knew every inch of this land. Clark couldn't see how. Every part of the forest that he'd seen so far looked the same. It occurred to him to wonder what he was doing in a forest, seeing how there weren't a whole lot of them in Kansas, but the rest of his dream was so bizarre, this new twist somehow didn't faze him.

They emerged in a small clearing, where two horses were tethered to a stout tree. One of them was a medium-sized chestnut, the other a humungous warhorse. _A destrier_, he identified, recalling one of the random factoids he'd learned in Professor Arden's class. He wondered how he was going to pull this one off. He'd ridden a horse before, but wasn't particularly good at it, and had certainly never climbed astride one that huge.

The boy swung easily onto his chestnut, eyeing Clark expectantly. Gulping, he made his way over the warhorse. For such a fierce-looking animal, it surveyed him with surprisingly mellow brown eyes. Clark tried to recall everything he knew about riding in the span of a few seconds. He failed. In the end, he just grabbed at the saddle and hoisted himself awkwardly onto the horse's back, which was no easy task in those ridiculous pointy shoes.

_Man, and I thought women's shoes were impractical,_ he reflected. He already had size-13 feet, and with the shoes he practically looked like Shaq.

In the meantime, the chestnut plodded along, the boy glancing about him for any signs of trouble. Clark urged his mount forward, trying not to look down. He hadn't ridden in years, and it was hard to get used to the monstrous horse's loping gait.

The boy stopped, and Clark followed his example. "I heard something, sir."

Clark strained to make out any unusual noises. His amplified hearing kicked in, and he thought he made out two female voices. And they were speaking in modern English!

"…it's the Middle Ages," a British-accented voice was saying. "Don't ask me how we got here, but either we're somehow both having the same dream or we've just experienced time travel."

"That's impossible," the second voice said.

Clark's heart rate leapt up. That was Lana!

"I think it's coming from that direction," he said, pointing. Praying he wouldn't screw up, he turned the destrier in the direction he had indicated.

_Damn, I wish I didn't have to be riding this horse, masquerading as a human,_ he lamented. He could get there so much faster if he could just use his powers. But things were as they are, and he only hoped he could get to Lana and Gillian in time. He hoped they weren't in terrible danger.

Those hopes flew out the window a moment later, when a woman's scream rent the air. Clark would recognize that scream anywhere. Lana!

"Stay here," he barked at the boy, dismounting. "I, er, methinks the maid needs help." This medievalspeak would take some getting used to. Who'd have thought that watching _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_ multiple times would pay off?

Disappearing into the trees, Clark threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure the boy wasn't watching. Then he took off, racing through the forest in an indiscernible blur.

Within seconds he skidded to a stop beside a gully. It was spanned by a fallen tree. On one side of the gully was Gillian, ducking behind a tree as a ragtag group of bandits fired arrows at her. Meanwhile, Lana stood on the log about halfway across, her features stricken by terror as the dead wood began to splinter and crack beneath her feet.

There was no time to think. Clark raced over to the gully and onto the log, dodging arrows. In a split-second he grabbed Lana and leaped to the other side, just as the log splintered and crashed onto the floor of the gully.

Meanwhile, arrows still whizzed overhead. Didn't these guys ever run out of ammo? Clark dove to the forest floor, shielding Lana with his body. One of the shafts passed by so closely, it clipped the hood of his tunic.

But his main concern was Lana. She lay sprawled beneath him, gazing up at him with wide, terrified jade-green eyes. Then gradually the terror faded, replaced by a relieved, knowing look.

"Clark," she murmured. "I know you'd come."

"I'll always come," he said. Tenderly, he brushed a strand of fine dark hair from her forehead. His fingers brushed her skin, traveled across the contours of her face and came to rest upon a silken cheek. He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt her tremble. His gaze fell upon her soft, full lips, parted slightly, only a breath away from his. He remembered all too well how it felt to kiss them. He was already painfully aware of the feel of her body beneath him, her curves molding to his, the warmth of her skin and the smell of her hair. Memories rushed through his mind, so exquisite and painful that for a moment he forgot about this strange dream, their near-death encounter, and the fact that brigands were firing arrows at them in some medieval forest.

Clark had no idea how long they would have been lying on the forest floor like that, if not for the sudden sound of hooves pounding the forest floor. Clark and Lana straightened up to glimpse several knights galloping through the forest toward the brigands. They wore chain mail, helms, and tabards bearing a black-and-crimson heraldry. Even their horses sported armor. Clark, Lana, and Gillian watched in horror as one of the knights slashed out with his sword, cleanly severing the head of one of the brigands. Lana shrieked as the head fell to the ground and rolled into the gully, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Even Clark had to turn away from the gruesome spectacle. Within moments the knights had dispatched the outlaws, at least half a dozen of them lying slain on the forest floor while a scant four or five survivors fled into the forest.

The knights' leader took off his helmet, eyeing the bodies in disgust. "Bloody _routiers._ What does it take to rid my land of those swine?"

He turned around, and Clark couldn't help but gasp. The knight was a spitting image of Lex! Well, except for his full mane of shaggy black hair, that is. Thick dark brows slashed across his forehead, his finely shaped mouth pulled into a taut, thin line.

His expression relaxed considerably when he sighted Clark and Lana. "Ah, Sir Kendrick, I should've known you'd show up in time to rescue the lady. I would have been most displeased if my future bride were to die at the hands of these God-cursed _routiers_."

Lana still couldn't get over the knight's resemblance to a certain bald millionaire. "Lex?" she gasped.

The heavy dark brows knit together. "Apparently you've sustained a head injury during your ordeal, my lady. Tis not Alexander, but his elder brother, Lothar."

_Lothar of Blackwood._ A flash of recognition came over Clark as he remembered that the boy had called him Kendrick. He hadn't paid much attention at the time, figuring it was part of his dream. But it was becoming increasingly clear to him that this was no dream. It was real, and some way or another, they had managed to travel back eight centuries to Langdon, England.

_But that's impossible_, logic told him. Yet how else could he explain how he woke up in the middle of a forest, surrounding by people who dressed like Medieval Times and spoke middle English? Either this was one hell of a reenactment, a tremendously elaborate joke, or they'd managed to defy all known laws of space/time and physics and jump through a wormhole without their knowledge.

Well, however they'd gotten here, the first order of business was somehow getting themselves out. Once they survived a day in the life of a medieval, they'd figure out a way to get back home again.

_If_ they survived.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"I suppose we owe you our gratitude, Lord Blackwood," Gillian spoke up. She didn't know Lex, so she was unmoved by the knight's appearance.

"Think nothing of it, Lady Anne. 'Tis my pleasure to protect your kinswoman."

"That you fancy her to be your bride, I'm sure, has something to do with it. But might I remind you that she has yet to accept you."

"Lady Anne, only you would display such cheek to one who saved your life. So the stories I hear about you are true."

"And what stories would that be?" Gillian challenged. "That I am an even more difficult piece of baggage than Lady Lianne? Forgive me for speaking freely, but 'twas Sir Kendrick who saved the lady's life."

Lana could not help but stare at Gillian. She was playing the role of medieval milady to perfection!

"And why does that not surprise me?" Blackwood surveyed Clark coolly. "Sir Kendrick always did have impeccable timing, particularly when it involves comely ladies."

"You should be grateful for my timing today," Clark said, trying to assume as Kendrick-like an expression as possible. Well, at least what he thought a dashing and gallant knight would look like if he were slighted.

Blackwood grimaced. "Kendrick, you are an excellent fighter, but I cannot say the same for your speech. I fear the rumors do your accent justice."

_Dammit, I should've paid more attention in class,_ Clark berated himself. "At the moment, methinks my speech is the least of our worries."

"You speak truly. But what I would like to know is why my betrothed and her kinswoman were riding unchaperoned through the forest."

"We need no protection from the likes of you," Gillian said haughtily. "And Lianne is not your betrothed."

"Yet," Blackwood corrected. "She is a smart woman; in time she will realize the wisdom of this union. I've no doubt about it."

His gaze swept over Lana with unnerving intimacy, and she found herself stepping back. Doing so also brought her closer to Clark, who stared at Blackwood with a dark expression.

"My lady, you would be wise to reconsider your refusal. The house of Blackwood has much to offer you. Your sire made a grave mistake in refusing me; do not repeat his folly. His pathetic loyalty to our king has amounted to naught, as you can see."

Fury blazed in Lana's eyes, and she honestly did not know from whence it came. Perhaps she spoke on Lianne's behalf. "How dare you refer to my father like that!"

"Langdon was a fool. A well-meaning fool, but a fool nonetheless. 'Tis time his lands fell under more capable leadership. I assure you, my lady, should you wed with me, I would provide you with everything you need." His voice deepened on that final phrase, and the way his dark eyes surveyed her conveyed the many implications of that statement.

A shudder of revulsion moved through her, a feeling she'd never experienced with Lex. Granted the man made her uneasy sometimes, but Blackwood was downright creepy. "I have made up my mind."

"So you think, dear Lianne, so you think." A humorless smile curled his lip. "We shall see."

Lana could do nothing but gaze at him defiantly. Silently she thanked God Clark was with her, for she honestly didn't know how she would've found the courage had she been alone.

"I'm afraid I must be on my way, for I've urgent business to attend to at Blackwood," Lothar announced. "It appears my men have subdued the _routiers_, but I will send Sir Kendrick with you as your escort. Who knows if there are still some stragglers about, and I'll not be satisfied until that scourge is banished from my lands for good. Ralph, come with me. I believe Sir Kendrick can handle two ladies on his own."

"Oh, I've no doubt," the boy Clark had been with earlier agreed.

"I trust you'll return to Blackwood later, Kendrick, when the ladies are safe within Langdon's walls?"

"That I will," Clark promised, thinking it would be a challenge considering he had no idea where Blackwood was.

"I shall call on you soon, Lady Lianne," Blackwood promised. Before Lana could react he seized her hand and brought it to his lips. Fortunately, he did not linger over her hand overlong.

Her eyes found Clark's and judging by his stormy expression, he was about as pleased over Blackwood's attentions as she was.

And then Blackwood was gone, galloping through the forest with his deep violet cloak swirling behind him.

Lana, Clark, and Gillian were left alone in the forest.

"Gillian, please tell me this Langdon is the same one from your father's project, and you know where it is," Lana said.

Gillian shook her head, looking bewildered. "I swear I have no more of an idea than you do. I've been to Langdon a few times, but the countryside looks totally different in the future. Besides which, I can't see a blasted thing in these woods but the position of the sun, and lot of good that does us considering we don't even know where we're going."

"In other words, we're screwed," Clark concluded.

"Pretty much, yes."

"So what do you propose we do?" Lana demanded. "Wander around until we stumble upon Langdon castle?"

"Well, does anyone have a better idea?"

While Lana and Gillian bickered, Clark tried using his powers to see if he could figure out where they were going. His amplified hearing enabled him to make out a peculiar sound, like bubbling liquid. He also heard the soft mewing of a cat.

So someone was nearby. But was it someone they'd necessarily want to run into?

He peered through the trees in the direction of the sound. His x-ray vision enabled him to glimpse what appeared to be a crude hut, standing alone among the trees. A person stood inside--a woman, judging by the height and frame. She was stirring the contents of a pot, which was suspended above a fire. A cat lounged on the floor at her feet.

"Hey, you two, I think we should go that way," he interrupted Gillian and Lana, pointing in the direction of the hut.

Gillian regarded him skeptically. "What makes you say that?"

He shrugged. "Just a hunch, I guess."

"Clark, no offense or anything, but is there any reason we should believe your hunch?"

"Actually, he's got a pretty good track record with stuff like this," Lana spoke up. "Sometimes I swear he has some kind of sixth sense."

Clark tried to look modest. "I guess I just have good intuition."

Gillian still didn't look totally convinced. "'Well, I've yet to hear any better ideas."

They returned to their mounts. Lana followed Gillian back to the clearing where they'd first awakened, to find two horses standing placidly in the grass. Gillian's mount was a lovely palomino, its coat as gleaming and golden as her hair. Lana's mount was apparently the lovely snowy-white mare at its side.

"Hi, there," she said softly, stroking the horse's velvety muzzle. Why, Lianne's mount was absolutely beautiful! "Thank you for waiting for me, Misty."

She had no idea where the memory of the mare's name came from. Perhaps it was some enchantment orchestrated by Isolde? The thought made her feel a little strange, but she hoped Isolde would continue to provide them with little tidbits of knowledge. It was amazing, she thought, that she would simply accept the old woman's mystical explanation for so many things. She never believed much in witchcraft or the paranormal before. Granted she'd seen her share of weird happenings in Smallville, but this was a bit much.

But then, the fact that they had somehow been brought back to the past without their knowledge, assuming the identity of three people who'd lived centuries earlier, kind of made suspension of disbelief a tad easier.

Presently Clark came riding up on a gargantuan warhorse, looking endearingly inept on the saddle. Lana shook her head, smiling to herself. How Clark would play the part of dashing and gallant knight would be interesting, indeed. Yet somehow she imagined he would pull it off.

The three of them rode through the forest in the direction Clark had indicated. Sure enough, they soon came upon what looked like a ramshackle hut, standing by itself in a clearing. The thin wisp of smoke wafting from the open window assured them that someone was home.

"Looks like someone lives here," Gillian observed.

"Do you think it's safe to approach them?" Lana asked.

"I'm not sure. Probably, but we'd best be ready to defend ourselves, just in case." Gillian, dismounted, still clutching the sword she'd snatched from the fallen _routier_. Clark and Lana followed suit. The three of them started warily for the hut, Clark's hand on the hilt of Kendrick's sword.

Gillian rapped lightly on the door. When no one answered, she knocked more firmly.

The door opened just a crack. "Who is it?" a reedy voice called.

"We are travelers who are lost," Gillian answered. "We mean you no harm."

"Leave your weapons at the door."

Clark and Gillian glanced dubiously at each other, then placed their weapons at their feet.

The door eased open. In the doorway stood a stooped old woman, her face wizened from the rigors of age and a hard life. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she wore a dun-colored gown of what appeared to be coarsely woven homespun.

At the sight of them, her expression relaxed into what almost appeared to be familiarity. "Ah… I've been expecting you."

"You have?" Lana echoed. Perhaps this old woman was a friend of Lady Lianne's.

"Aye. Do come in."

They followed her into the hut. She apparently lived a very Spartan existence, for the room contained only a few pieces of crude furniture and some personal effects. A cauldron was suspended above a small fire, next to which was a table containing several bottles of what looked like herbs and a smattering of unidentifiable substances.

"I'm sure you're wondering where you are and how you ended up here," the woman said.

When none of them responded except to stare blankly at her, the woman's face broke into a smile. "You may relax, my children. I know everything. I know that you come from the future—after all, 'twas I who summoned you."

"You did?" Clark stepped forward. "Then you can send us back?"

The woman shook her head. "Nay, not I. 'Twas actually the Goddess who brought you here. I merely invoked her. Only she can decide when you will return home."

Lana tried very hard not to sigh in frustration. "So you mean to tell us we're stuck here until the Goddess decides to send us back?"

"Aye, but you were summoned for a reason. I imagine she will send you back once you have accomplished what you were meant to." She regarded Lana with an almost maternal tenderness. "You are a beauty, just like Lianne. I sense her spirit in you. The Goddess chose wisely."

"What do you mean, I've been chosen?" Lana questioned.

"Just what I said. You all have." She turned to Gillian. "You are the one with the knowledge." To Clark she said, "And you, young man, have the power."

Clark frowned. "What power? With all due respect, ma'am, I'm no knight. I'm just a high school boy."

The old woman shook her head. "Nay. You are special, I can see that. Just like Kendrick."

Lana hung on to every word, intrigued. She had always known there was something different about Clark, but she could never find an explanation. Too many strange things happened when he was around. But whatever his secret was, he would never tell her. It was part of the reason they broke up.

"I loved Lianne like a daughter," the old woman continued. "I owe her sire my life. I was unable to save him, but perhaps I could save her. I only wanted her to have the happy ending she deserved."

"What are you talking about?" Lana asked. "We heard her story. She had a happy ending."

"What you consider happy and what I consider happy may not be the same thing."

"But what if we can't save her?" Clark wanted to know. "We have only limited knowledge of your time and of what happened here. What if we get ourselves killed, which, I might add, we almost did this morning?"

"That is not for me to answer," the woman told him. "As I said, I did not choose you. The Goddess did."

Clark scowled. Couldn't this woman tell them anything? "Well, can't you invoke these Goddess and ask her to choose someone else?"

The woman shook her head. "Such insolence would not sit well with her. As her humble subjects, all we can do is trust her."

"I don't think I'll be very good at being a humble subject," Gillian muttered.

"It looks like we're stuck here until the Goddess decides to send us back," Clark summed up. "We might as well do what we have to do, and maybe we can get out of here."

"I can guide you to Langdon, and Blackwood as well," the old woman informed them. "In fact, I guided you to me so I could acquaint you with this world."

"How thoughtful of you," Lana muttered.

"So it was you who sent Lana the tapestry," Gillian conjectured.

The old woman shook her head. "I imagine it was Lianne. 'Tis likely she made it, since she always had a liking for such things. The Goddess merely intimated that she would send the chosen an unfinished tapestry. It would remain so until its end was accomplished. Now it is your turn to finish the story."

A shiver slid down Lana's spine, the old woman's words echoing her late great aunt's.

"Come now; I will guide you to Langdon. Young sir, Lothar will be expecting you at Blackwood later so I will guide you there as well."

"Thank you," Clark said, though what he was thanking her for he wasn't quite sure.

"You have been very kind," Lana told the old woman. "Will you be here to answer our questions, since we know little about your world?"

"I will always be here, my child.".

"I thank you…" Lana's voice trailed off upon realizing she didn't know the woman's name.

"You may call me Isolde."

"Thank you, Isolde."

The old woman merely nodded and turned back to her cauldron.

"So, er, how do you intend to guide us?" Clark asked.

"Young sir, surely you did not think I would accompany you? Start walking; you will find your feet know the way."

Frowning, Clark had no choice but to do as she bid. He and Gillian exited the hut.

Lana lingered behind, still bothered by one thing the woman had said. "Isolde, I recall you mentioned that Clark was summoned because he had the power, and Gillian because she had the knowledge. If you don't mind my asking, why was I summoned?"

The old woman regarded her knowingly. "You, my child, have the heart."

She turned back to the cauldron, and said no more. Lana knew she would get nothing else out of the old woman. Overwhelmed, still wondering about so many unanswered questions, she left the hut.

From now on, it appeared they were on their own.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Isolde had been right about them knowing the way to Langdon. Lana found herself instinctively guiding her mount down a well-traveled path through the forest, unsure of how she knew where she was going but positive she was heading in the right direction. Sure enough, the trees soon thinned out to reveal a lush, verdant clearing, at the center of which rose Langdon Castle.

"Wow," she murmured, unprepared for the spectacle before her, despite studying the professor's illustrations. The crumbling stone walls now stood proud and stately, colorful pennants hanging from the ramparts and rippling in the wind. They bore a vibrant blue-and-gold heraldry depicting a falcon with its wings spread. A grand drawbridge spanned the silvery waters of the moat, which lapped placidly at the castle's outer walls.

In front of the castle stood a large open field. Lana watched as a knight, astride a horse as huge as Clark's and holding a lance, charged toward a sort of pole with a crossbeam. Attached to one end of the crossbeam was a shield, on the other hung a sack. The knight charged, expertly striking the shield and clearing the device before the sack knocked him from the saddle. Metal clashed against metal as a pair of teenage boys, probably squires, engaged in a spirited fencing match. Lana had a feeling those swords weren't blunted.

"This would be the lists," Gillian informed them. "Knights and squires practice their fighting here. This is also where tournaments are held."

To the side of the castle stood the village. It was similar to the professor's drawing, except that the wall that surrounded it was noticeably taller. Gillian led them to the gate, where a mail-clad guard lounged lazily, looking bored. He straightened up upon their approach.

"Ah, Lady Lianne, Lady Anne. Enter."

Lana nodded her acknowledgement, trying to look regal. She, Gillian, and Clark filed through the gate into the village.

The street was crowded and noisy, and none too clean, either. Mud squelched beneath the horses' hooves, and the stench of manure and refuse was almost overpowering. Swine wandered freely about. Shops lined the streets, including a blacksmith, tailor, barber, furrier, and shoemaker. They also passed a tavern, public fountain, and bath house. Further along they came upon a sort of open market, where several booths had been set up and merchants hawked their wares.

After passing through the village, the three of them came to the drawbridge. People passed in and out of the castle, and the sentries did not seem to pay them any heed. Clark, Lana, and Gillian entered without so much as a "Halt! Who goes there?"  
As they passed through the gate, Lana glanced up at the huge portcullis, made of iron and not wood as the professor's illustration depicted. Razor-sharp spikes glinted perilously above their heads, and she could not help but move quickly out from underneath them.  
They entered the outer bailey, which was every bit as bustling as the village. Then they passed through yet another gate to the innermost part of the castle, where the keep, chapel, and Great Hall stood.

Lads immediately came out to greet them, taking their mounts to the stables after they had dismounted. Lana started to swing down from her horse when she saw Clark standing in front of her, his hand outstretched.

"Some assistance, milady?" he asked.

She could not help but return his smile. "Why thank you, kind sir." As he lowered her to ground, her body brushed up against him ever so lightly. Yet the brief contact was enough to ignite a shower of sparks upon her skin, and to her horror she thought she might be blushing. Damn it. She was still shaken up from that morning. Whether the reason was her near-death experience or the moment with Clark afterward, she could not tell.

But she had a sneaking suspicion the latter had a lot to do with it.  
He seemed to notice her discomfort, for he pulled away quickly, following her and Gillian awkwardly into the Great Hall.

"This is amazing," Lana murmured upon entering. It was a huge room, with a high ceiling and exposed wooden beams overhead. Resplendent tapestries adorned the walls, their vibrant colors striking and radiant against the gray stone. Aunt Lily's tapestry must've looked like this once, Lana reflected. The tapestries were interwoven with silver and gold threads, which glinted the sunlight that filtered through high glazed windows. The glass was nothing like modern glass. The surface was wavy and irregular, throwing the light in odd patterns upon the hall's interior.

A plump, round-faced matron scuttled toward them--a servant, judging by her plain clothing. "Welcome home, milady. Dinner will be served shortly."

"Thank you," Lana said with a smile. The woman smiled back, looking a little confused.

"Go to the table up there," Gillian said out of the side of her mouth, nodding toward a stout wooden table at the opposite end of the Great Hall. It stood atop a raised dais, overlooking all the other tables in the room.

Lana did as Gillian instructed. As they walked across the room, their feet crunched over a sort of mat constructed of stout grass and various herbs. At one point, it might have been pleasant-smelling, but now the grass was dirty and reeked of rotting food. To Lana's revulsion, she spotted a discarded bone lying on the floor. The bone was promptly snatched up by one of the hounds lounging about.

"Dang, this place is suffering without its lady," Gillian muttered.

"My apologies, milady," said the servant solicitously. "The servants have grown lazy in your absence. I'll get rid of the hounds at once. The rushes will be replaced on the morrow."

"Could you? That would be nice," Lana said politely. Once again, the woman looked confused, then quickly scurried off.

"Lana, they're your servants… or should I say Lianne's servants," Gillian told her. "You're supposed to order them around, not ask them to do their jobs."

It felt weird to be ordering servants around. Maybe she should've spent more time at the Luthor mansion.

"It's kind of early to be serving dinner," Clark remarked.

"How could you tell? I have no idea what time it is," Lana said, referring to the conspicuous absence of clocks or any kind of timekeeping device.

"The medievals took their big meal in the middle of the day," Gillian explained. "Supper was a small and simple meal, kind of like lunch is in modern times."

Dinner was, to say the least, an interesting experience. A huge amount of people--servants, knights, and ladies--filed into the hall and completely filled all of the tables. And the amount of food was staggering. The meal was served in several courses, which included a vast array of dishes--meats, cheeses, wafers, cakes, cookies, jellies, and puddings. Gillian was the most adventurous, spooning up generous helpings without batting an eye. Clark and Lana were more hesitant, but in the end, hunger won over, and they partook liberally. It helped that their only beverage was spiced wine, which, after a couple of glasses, loosened everyone's inhibitions. One of the strangest parts of the meal was that there were no forks! Lana tried to make do with a knife and spoon, but soon noticed that many of the other diners ate with their hands. _Well, when in Rome_… she thought, doing away with the knife and spoon altogether.

"Oh, man, I'm stuffed," Gillian groaned when the meal was over.

"You're telling me," Clark said. "At least you don't have to get on your horse and ride all the way back to Blackwood, wherever the heck that is."

"Do you have to go now?" Lana spoke up, surprised by the earnestness of her tone. "Can't you stay a while?"

"I'd like to, but I don't want to be out there when it gets dark," Clark answered. "Besides, I don't want to risk getting on Lothar's bad side. I've got a bad feeling about that guy."

Lana had to agree. He seemed like a first-class creep to her. "You're probably right. I just hate the idea of us being separated. I'd feel safer if we all stuck together." Somehow, being trapped in an unfamiliar and dangerous world didn't seem so bad when he was with her.

And it seemed so much lonelier and more frightening without him.

"I know, but with things as they are, we don't have much of a choice," Clark told her. "Don't worry. I'm sure you and Gillian will be safe behind these walls."

"It isn't just us I worry about," Lana said, still not fully convinced. "What if you run into more of those _routiers_?"

"I think Lothar's knights pretty well vanquished them, at least for now. Relax… I'll be fine." He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "If this Kendrick guy had the rep I think he did, I doubt anyone would want to mess with him."

Lana wished she could feel as optimistic as Clark seemed to. And she wished she were not so acutely aware of the heat of his hand on her shoulder, burning right through all the layers of fabric.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Then we'll figure out how to get home again, OK?" They lingered for a moment before he stepped back and made a gallant bow. "Until we meet again, my Lady."

She laughed. "Fare thee well, Sir Kendrick."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. There was no ignoring the jolt of electricity that raced through her. She could've sworn he lingered over her hand a second longer than he needed to, but maybe it was just wishful thinking.

And then the moment was over. She watched as he threw a final grin over his broad shoulder, and then strode out of the Great Hall.

"He's got a nice little arse in those hose, eh?" Gillian joked, materializing at Lana's side.

Lana nearly jumped. "Um, yeah, I guess."

"Clark Kent is most definitely gifted in the butt department."

"I think I need more wine." Lana retreated to the table.

Gillian merely gazed after her, amusement dancing in her odd-colored eyes.

And Lana sincerely hoped the warmth in her face was because of the wine.

The afternoon shadows deepened into misty twilight as Clark rode through the forest. At least the old lady hadn't steered him wrong. He was pretty sure he was headed in the right direction, although how much farther he had to go he wasn't sure. He wondered if Blackwood would be as comfortable and welcoming as Langdon. Somehow he doubted it. But at least it was someplace other than a horse's back. He had been riding so many hours, his back was getting stiff and he was pretty sure his butt had fallen asleep a long time ago. Oh, how he longed for the plush, cushioned seats in his truck.

He supposed he should've been thankful that so far, the ride had been uneventful. But that also made it mind-numbingly boring. His mind tended to wander, far too often in the direction of how amazing Lana looked in that gown. How she could look sexier under yards of fabric than in a swimsuit, he didn't know. Or how the way she looked at him when he kissed her hand, tentative and almost shy, was far more tempting than her Nicodemus-induced sexpot act. Even after all this time, she still got him with the subtlest of movements, glances, or touches. And it seemed he was getting to her, too.

_Hey, we've been down this road before, _he warned himself. What was happening between them didn't necessarily mean anything. It was natural to turn to each other, given the bizarre and frightening situation. Or perhaps some of Lianne and Kendrick's feelings were rubbing off on them. Seeing how they'd somehow switched places with the couple, it was a distinct possibility.

Whatever the reason, he couldn't give in to it. His heart was finally on the mend. He wasn't going to undo it all in one moment of weakness.

By now, twilight had darkened into evening, and the forest came alive with nighttime sounds. Crickets chirped. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. A small animal scurried about in the underbrush.

Out in the forest somewhere, something else rustled.

Clark continued riding, giving no outward side that anything was amiss. But his hand inched toward the hilt of his sword as he listened closely.

A twig snapped. Something--or someone--was definitely following him. His hand closed over the hilt of his sword, every muscle in his body tensed.

It looked like his journey was about to get more interesting.

Lana and Gillian whiled away the afternoon by going on a walk through the castle, during which Gillian pointed out everything she knew about it. Lana mentally noted the location of all the important places, particularly the garderobe.

Afternoon became evening, and Lana and Gillian retired to a room Gillian called the solar. The solar was the medieval equivalent of the modern living room. During the day, it would have been cheerful and airy, with a large glazed window and elegant window seat. But at night, it was dark and shadowy, lit only by torches in sconces on the wall.

Lana didn't know what to do with herself. She paced about the room, unable to calm her restless thoughts. Meanwhile, Gillian rummaged around in a small and beautifully carved wooden chest. She eventually produced what looked like a half-finished tapestry and sank down on a chair, needle glinting in the flickering light as she stitched.

"You're doing embroidery?" Lana asked.

Gillian shrugged. "I might as well. There's nothing else to do."

So this is how people entertained themselves before TV, Lana reflected.  
"My stitches aren't nearly as nice as Lady Anne's. I hope she doesn't freak out when she sees it."

Lana chuckled, sinking down in the chair next to Gillian's. "I was never one for needlepoint. I probably gave my home ec teacher nightmares."   
Gillian laughed. "My mum taught me embroidery. I imagine she was none too pleased to see me running around with a plastic sword all the time, so she wanted to teach me something ladylike."

It was the first time Gillian had mentioned her mother. "Is your Mom in Smallville? Or did she stay in England?"

Gillian shook her head. "She died when I was twelve. Leukemia. Dad and I sort of saw it coming for a while, but it didn't make it any easier."

"I'm so sorry," Lana told her.

"It's OK. It was a long time ago. But every now and then, I still get out a needle and thread and make something pretty. It's sort of how I keep her with me, you know?"  
Lana nodded, rather familiar with the feeling herself. "I know. My parents were killed in the meteor shower when I was little. For a long time I kept a fragment of the meteor rock, and I had it made into a necklace."

"Really?" Gillian asked. "Do you still wear it?"

"No… but I have it in a jewelry box at home."

Gillian seemed to understand. "It's interesting, how we all have some kind of story. Well, except for Clark. I met his parents only briefly, but they seem like lovely people."

"They are," Lana agreed. "But they're not his birth parents. He's adopted."

Gillian arched a golden eyebrow. "Really. Looks like all three of us have a story, then."

"Yeah," Lana agreed. "Just like Lianne… and Kendrick, the mystery man."

"Clark's a bit of a mystery himself, isn't he?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Which reminds me, I meant to ask you something I've been thinking about all day," Gillian remarked. "When we were being attacked by _routiers_, I remember ducking behind the tree while you were stranded on that log. I looked up literally a moment later and there he was, both of you safely on the other side. What happened?"

Lana had experienced so many similar incidents with Clark, she had given up trying to figure it out. "You know what? I honestly couldn't tell you. Everything is just kind of a blur."

"Oh… I see." Gillian seemed mollified. "I'd probably feel the same way myself."

The two of them lapsed into silence, Gillian stitching while Lana fingered one of the intricately embroidered pillows sitting on the chair. Suddenly Gillian looked up and asked, "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

They'd already shared quite a bit of personal information, so Lana couldn't see any reason why not. "What is it?"

"You and Clark… were you ever…?" The sentence trailed off.

A brief hesitation. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I have eyes," was Gillian's dry response. "I see the way you two act around each other. The sexual tension blows Dawson and Joey right out of the water."

Lana appeared to develop an intense fascination with the pillow. "Clark and I have a history, but now we're just friends."

"I see." Gillian didn't sound convinced. "I always sensed there was something between you two. I admit that for a while I thought he fancied me, but no more than most boys do--as a decent-looking bird to bide some time with until true love comes along."

"Gillian, you're selling yourself short," Lana objected. "I'm sure there are tons of guys out there in love with you."

"Thanks, but it's all right," Gillian assured her. "I figure there are two kinds of girls in this world. There's the kind boys have some fun with, make a few great memories, but they know she's not The One. And then there's the kind they never really get over. That's what you are, Lana."

Lana regarded her doubtfully. "Really?"

"Really." Gillian resumed her stitching. Lana fell silent as well, and for a while the only sounds were the crackling of the torches and the distant chirping of crickets. Lana wondered if what Gillian had said about girls was also true about guys. If it was, there was no doubt in her mind which type Clark was.

Finally Lana got up and opened the chest Gillian had been looking through. "I think I'll give this needlepoint thing a whirl. Maybe you could help me out? I warn you, though--I'm in sad shape."

Gillian grinned. "Nothing I can't handle."

And so the two of them sat side-by-side, stitching, until the torches burned low and they retired to their respective chambers.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Clark waited.

Then he heard it, a barely perceptible swishing noise behind him. He glimpsed a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and wheeled around, drawing his sword at the same time.

"Who goes there? Show yourself!" he shouted, in as commanding a voice as he could.

"Aaaah! Don't strike, sir! 'Tis I, your squire!"

Clark lowered his sword, beholding the trembling boy in front of him. "Damn and blast, boy! You scared the"--how did you say _crap_ in Middle English? "You sacred me," he finished lamely.

"Begging your pardon, my lord," the boy, Ralph, implored. "I didn't mean to. I thought you were a brigand."

"You'd best thank God I wasn't, or you'd be on the wrong end of a sword by now," Clark said darkly. "You nearly ended up on the wrong side of mine."

The boy bowed his head, chastised.

Clark felt odd referring to Ralph as a boy, since he was only a couple of years younger than he was. But he figured Kendrick was probably in his early or mid-twenties by the time he found his way to Langdon. "Why on earth are you wandering around the woods at night, anyway? Are you looking for trouble?" Clark demanded.

"Nay, sir… I was only seeking to protect the kingdom from _routiers_." The boy puffed out his narrow chest proudly.

"Foolish boy. More likely you'd have ended up getting yourself killed," Clark grumbled. "Now come on, let's get back to the castle before we run into real trouble." He led the way to Blackwood, a humbled Ralph following him. Clark made sure to keep a perma-scowl on his face. Playing the proud, arrogant knight was kind of fun!

A few moments later, the trees fell away and Blackwood castle loomed out of the darkness. It was a sight to behold, the massive stone structure illuminated by the flickering glow of hundreds of torches. It stood stark and proud on an outcropping of land, a moat surrounding three sides while the fourth fell away in a steep rock face. A winding path let up the hill to the drawbridge, which Clark and Ralph followed. A sentry sleepily guarded the gatehouse, barely batting an eye as they crossed. The moat lay still and black beneath the indigo sky. It reeked so foully that the odor alone would surely keep invaders at bay.

Blackwood's Great Hall was, as predicted, the antithesis of Landgon's. It was dank and ill-lit, and there were probably colonies of vermin living in the rushes. A pungent mixture of sweat, ale, and smoke assaulted Clark's nostrils as he entered. A crowd of men had gathered for their evening meal, and the cacophony of loud voices, ribald laughter, and clattering silverware nearly drowned out the minstrel serenading them with a lute.

Clark ended up taking his supper with a group of loud knights, whose main topic of conversation was either their prowess in fighting or in bedding comely wenches. He partook of a generous amount of ale, despite its strong, bitter taste. He pretended not to notice the way the serving wench, a buxom redhead, kept eyeing him, as though she fancied him her dessert.

"Methinks Rosaline fancies you, Kendrick," a burly knight with greasy hair joked.

"Eh, Rosaline fancies anything that moves!" a second knight chimed in.

"Nay, she must have standards--_you've_ not tasted her charms yet!"

Raucous laughter rang out around the table.

"So what say you, Kendrick? Are you going to tumble her in the stable tonight, or what?" Greasy Hair wanted to know.

Clark gulped down more ale. "I think I'll pass."

"You're a picky one, eh?" a tall, bearded knight spoke up. "But then, had I spent the afternoon with Lady Lianne, 'twould be difficult for a mere serving wench to measure up!"

"Aye, Lianne is a fetching morsel," Greasy Hair agreed. "Our Lord is a lucky man. Could you imagine those milky thighs spread for you?"

"I bet Kendrick knows the feeling!" the bearded man taunted.

The bawdy laughter accompanying that statement abruptly went silent as Clark's wine goblet banged down on the table. "You'll not speak of the lady that way!" he commanded. "Have you no manners?"

A collective groan was his only response. "You take chivalry far too seriously, Kendrick," the bearded knight grumbled.

"We were only having a spot of fun," Greasy Hair added. "After all, 'tis not us who are tupping the comeliest lady in the land. We merely wish to know of your-"

He stopped short as a sword whipped through the air and embedded itself in his trencher, neatly slicing it in half. "You will cease this talk at once," said Clark menacingly, "or this sword shall be slicing other things than your trencher."

A tense silence hung in the air, until gradually the men resumed their eating--quietly, save for the sounds of smacking, slurping, and the gulping of ale.

Clark himself was in need of a generous amount of ale. Where had that outburst come from? Was some of Kendrick's personality coming through to him? He didn't know, but hearing Lana spoken of that way ignited a hot swell of temper that just seemed to get away from him. No one spoke of her that way, not even a bunch of crass medievals!

"Good work, Sir Kendrick," a low voice spoke up behind him. Lord Lothar had materialized seemingly out of nowhere, and was likely a large part of the reason for the men's sudden silence. "I would be most displeased if these men spoke ill of my bride."

"'Tis my duty to defend her honor and well as yours, my lord," Clark said respectfully.

"And you know, sir, that I would also be gravely displeased should the rumors of your involvement with Lianne have any truth to them," Blackwood continued.

Clark gulped. "I assure you, my Lord, 'tis naught but hearsay. I've no agenda but to keep the lady safe for you."

Blackwood seemed appeased. "You are an honorable man, Kendrick. I trust you… and should you be lying, I will doubtless find out on my wedding night. Then, both the lady and yourself shall suffer the consequences."

"You'll not be disappointed, my lord. I've had naught to do with Lianne in that sense." Wasn't that the truth.

"See that you don't." With a final cool glance over his shoulder, Blackwood moved on.

The remainder of the meal passed without incident. Clark barely tasted the stale bread and stew he had been served. He was most grateful when he was finally able to vacate the Great Hall.

The chamber Blackwood had assigned him was small but surprisingly comfortable. Kendrick had few possessions, but Clark managed to find a heavy fur-trimmed cloak that kept him quite warm. However, it soon came to his attention that the ale he'd consumed at dinner had caught up with him. Surely the medievals had some answer to a bathroom. He had no choice but to wander the keep until he found what he needed.

Fortunately, it did not take long before he stumbled upon the garderobe. Once had finished his business, he realized he had no idea how to get back to his chamber. Swell. He trudged down the hall to the narrow, winding staircase, wondering if he was headed in the right direction.

The sound of voices down the corridor soon diverted his attention. Clark knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but upon hearing the men's words, he couldn't help himself.

"Methinks the lady knows more than she lets on, my lord," an unfamiliar voice was saying.

"Perhaps, but do not forget that she is a mere woman. Even if she did know something, she could do little about it." Blackwood's voice.

Clark flattened himself against the wall, ducking into the shadows.

"She could go to the king. After all, Langdon was on good terms with John."

"If she tries to flee, she'll not go far. I've men posted throughout the forest disguised as vagrants. 'Tis a shame about the incident this morning, but one must do what is necessary to guard his reputation."

"Aye, and an inspired idea it was, my lord. But she's a smart one… she'll find a way to get around it."

"Mayhap you're right. Her dullard of a brother may have had the good graces to get himself killed in the Holy Land, but her father was a bit trickier. I'll send Kendrick to guard her while I am in France. When I wed her, I shall find out if she is innocent or not. Either way, Langdon's lands and fortune will be mine, and I'll have little need of her except perhaps for siring an heir."

"Aye, you'd be a fool to dispose of her before you got a decent bit of sport," Blackwood's companion agreed. "Mayhap when you've had your fill, you might see fit to share the wench--"

Clark nearly jumped as steel whistled through the air, and the man's raunchy tone abruptly degenerated to a strangled gurgle.

"Show some respect, Hugh," said Blackwood with deceptive calm, the blade of his jeweled dagger pressed to the man's throat. "Remember what happened with Kendrick at supper this eve. His threats will pale in comparison to what I have in store for those who disrespect my bride."

"Aye, my lord," the man named Hugh said, or at least attempted to say, since the phrase sounded more like, "aiieemlllrrrrrd."

The blood rushed back into Hugh's pasty face as Blackwood abruptly pulled back his blade. "Good night, Sir Hugh." With that, Blackwood whirled and strode down the hall, his ermine-trimmed cloak swirling behind him.

Sir High beat a hasty retreat. When he was sure the coast was clear, Clark slipped out from under the cover of the shadows and quickly made his way back to his chamber--at least, he hoped he was heading back to his chamber. Relief rushed through him when he finally found the room. I've got to warn Lana and Gillian, he thought urgently. He debated using his powers to race through the woods to Langdon Castle, but quickly dismissed the idea. Surely Blackwood would find out he was gone, and it would only enforce his suspicions that Kendrick was dallying with Lianne--or worse.

No, Clark couldn't afford to tip his hand now. Blackwood would be sending him to Langdon tomorrow, and then he'd be able to keep Lana and Gillian safe. He had only tonight to get through.

It might as well have been a hundred years. He could get no rest while Lana was in danger, and morning could not come fast enough.  
--

_The night was dark and silent. She felt the quiet pressing around her, almost like a living thing, as she paced about her father's treasury. Henry of Langdon appeared no less uneasy. _

"_Must you go to France again, Father?" she asked anxiously. "You just got here!" _

"_I know, Lianne." Henry's green eyes reflected sorrow. "Would that I could spend more time at home, but alas, the situation in France grows worse, and I must go to war for my king." _

"_Why this incessant fighting?" Lianne scowled, placing her slender hands on her hips. "War in the Holy Land was the death of William. I cannot lose you, too!" _

"_You shall not lose me, Lianne," Henry assured her. "But in the unlikely event I don't return, please remember this. Should Blackwood offer for you again, do not accept. I wish I could've married you to Robin before war broke out, and then I would know you are safe. But things are as they are, and hopefully he will return soon and the matter will be taken care of. Until then, do not trust Blackwood. That's all you need to know." _

"_But why?" Lianne pressed. "Has Blackwood a hidden agenda of some kind?"   
"The less you know, the better," was all Henry said. "Promise me you will heed my advice." _

"_I shall not promise, for you will return safe and sound," Lianne said firmly. "Please do not speak so, father. It distresses me." _

"_Lianne, we cannot hide from the reality of war. As much as I hate to think about such things, we must be prepared for the worst." Henry regarded her gravely. "Please promise me you will do as I say… just so my mind can be at ease when I depart on the morrow." _

_Lianne hesitated, loathe to make the promise and to thus admit to the possibility of her father's demise. "I promise." _

_Henry laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "'Twill be all right, my daughter. Do not worry. I will return to Langdon in due time." _

_Lianne tried to smile. "I know, father." Outside the castle, the wind howled incessantly in a lonely dirge. She could not help but find the sound ominous.  
She wished she could share in her father's optimism. But she could not shake the feeling that something was wrong… very wrong._

Lana awoke to a clear and sunny morning. But the night had been a restless one, the dream leaving her with a feeling of profound consternation. Could it be that she was experiencing some of Lianne's memories?

Still feeling uneasy, Lana summoned Gwyneth, her lady-in-waiting. She was still getting used to the idea of servants waiting on her hand and foot. Gwyneth helped her dress, choosing a deep green gown that matched the color of Lana's eyes. Lana inspected her reflection in the bronze, the closest thing the medievals had to a mirror. The only makeup Lianne apparently wore was rice powder and some lip rouge. Although Lana usually didn't wear much makeup, her face felt naked without it.

She and Gillian immediately headed to morning mass in the church's chapel. The priest gave the entire mass in Latin, which got massively boring considering Lana didn't understand a word he as saying. Afterward, it was off to the Great hall for breakfast. The meal consisted of bread, cheese, and mulled wine. They were just finishing up when a squire entered the hall.

"Lord Lothar of Blackwood is here to see you, milady," the boy announced. "Sir Kendrick de Montclair is with him."

Lana rose abruptly. "Send them in."

The squire did as he was asked. A moment later, Blackwood strode in the hall, with Clark and his squire, Ralph, behind him. Clark caught Lana's eye, and relief coursed through her seeing he was all right. However, she worked to keep her expression haughty as she addressed Blackwood. "Lord Lothar, what brings you to Langdon today?"

"Surely you remember that I promised to call on you. His voice was low and unnervingly intimate. "However, I fear I am the bearer of unfortunate tidings."

"I'm sorry to hear that." His words sent a rumble of uneasiness through her. "What might that be?"

"I've received word that tensions are mounting in France again. I've interests abroad that must be seen to, so I leave on the morrow. 'Twill likely be a sennight, maybe a fortnight, before I return."

"I am disappointed that the peace did not last," Lana remarked, "but I neglect to understand why your departure should sadden me."

A peculiar coughing sound emanated from the back of the Great Hall. Red-faced, Clark held his hand over his mouth. "Sorry, catch in my throat," he rasped.

"Would you like a glass of wine, Sir Kendrick?" Lana asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"I would be much gratified, my Lady."

She signaled a serving wench. "Eleanor, kindly fetch some wine for Sir Kendrick."

Eleanor nodded and was off.

"I am leaving you in the care of Sir Kendrick until I return," Blackwood went on, ignoring her slight. "I hope you will be more amenable to our betrothal by then. If not, I'm afraid I will be left with no choice."

"No choice but what?" Lana stared him down, despite the fact that her palms were sweating and she was forced to hide her shaking hands in the folds of her skirt.

"You are aware that you are a mere woman. You can never own this land in your own right. Sooner or later, it will be snatched from you--either by myself, or by the king. As loathe as I am to take your lands or your person by force, I will if I must."

"Are you threatening me?" Lana demanded.

"I prefer to think of it as offering you an incentive," was Blackwood's smooth reply. "I beg you reconsider. Would a marriage to the house of Blackwood be so bad? You will be given everything you need, and most of the time you will be left to your own devices. Of course, I am in need of an heir, but I doubt you shall find that duty terribly unpleasant."

"I'd rather bear the devil's spawn than subject myself to such torture, even if it wouldn't last long," Lana spat out.

This time Gillian began choking and sputtering, having nearly snorted wine up her nose. Eleanor rushed to fetch her another glass.

Blackwood was unruffled. "You always were a cheeky baggage, my lady. It shall make our wedding night all the better."

Lana had run out of witty retorts. "Bite me, Blackwood."

Gillian lost it altogether and bolted from the Great Hall, muttering something about the garderobe.

"'Tis curious speech you use in Brittany," Blackwood remarked. "But alas, as much as I would love to continue this verbal volley, I must be off. We will resume our conversation when I return. By then, I trust you'll have seen the wisdom of accepting my offer."

"Aye, at about the same time I see one of the village swine flying past my window," Lana retorted. "Will you see yourself outside, or shall I have a squire escort you?"

"I can find my own way out, thank you very much. I'd like to get acquainted with my future property."

"I hear the view is lovely from the gallows!" Lana called after him.

The Great Hall fell quiet after Blackwood's departure.

"Oh, my God, you were freakin' _awesome_!" Gillian exclaimed, having returned from wherever she'd fled to. "Way to go, Lana!"

"I never know you had it in you," Clark added with a grin.

"Yup, beneath this sweet exterior lies a saucy wench just waiting to get out," Lana joked. She didn't let on how much the encounter left her shaking and how wobbly her knees felt. She hadn't known she had it in her, either! But Christopher's accounts did paint Lianne as a strong and willful woman, and Lana felt she should play the part.

"Your wine, milady?" Eleanor asked Gillian, arriving with the glass.

"Thank you, don't mind if I do." Lana took the glass and downed it in practically two gulps. She handed the empty glass back to a confused Eleanor, who disappeared into the kitchen.

"They really water it down," she said defensively, noticing Clark and Gillian's curious stares.

"Well, we can't stand here basking in the glory of Lothar's departure for too long," Clark said. "I hate to be wet blanket, but I've got some bad news."

The smile melted off Gillian's face, and Lana became concerned. "What is it?"

"I overheard Lothar and his right hand man talking last night," Clark answered. "Turns out there's more to him than it seems. I'm afraid you're both in terrible danger."


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

"What do you mean?" Lana wanted to know.

Clark explained what he had heard--omitting the more offensive parts, of course. "All I know is Blackwood's up to no good. He's the one responsible for Henry's death, and maybe Robin's as well. Whatever he's up to, I suspect Henry had something on him, and now he's worried that Lianne knows as well."

"Oh, wow," Lana murmured. "You're never going to believe this, but I dreamed something like that last night. It was like I was experiencing one of Lianne's memories. Henry was talking her about Blackwood, telling her not to trust him. I think Henry suspected he was up to no good."

"The plot thickens," Gillian commented.

"You think you're experiencing some of Lianne's memories?" Clark asked.   
"It's possible," Gillian said. "We have somehow switched places with these people. It's not out of the question that we could have access to their memories."  
"But it's not like it's voluntary or anything," Lana made sure to mention. "It just came to me in a dream."

"Still, it's something," Gillian pointed out. "Wow… this is getting crazier by the minute."

"You're telling me," Clark said. "So far every part of your father's story has come true."

A heavy silence fell over them as they thought about the story's end. It was Lana who voiced what they were all thinking.

"Kendrick will die in my arms," she murmured. She looked up at Clark, fear reflected in her eyes. "We have to get back to the future before Lothar makes his move. I can't let you die here!"

"Then whatever we're supposed to accomplish, we have to do it soon," Clark concluded grimly.

"A fine idea if we knew what the hell we were supposed to do," Gillian said. "Short of changing history, I can't see why we were brought here."

"Then we'll change history," Lana declared.

"Hey, I'm all for it," Clark added. "So what do you propose we do?"

"I suggest we search the place, starting with the treasury and Henry's chamber," Gillian suggested. "If he did have something on Lothar, perhaps we might find some clues."

"Good idea," Lana agreed. "I'll search through Lianne's things, see what she knew."

"I'll hang around the other knights, keep my ears peeled to see if they know anything," Clark suggested.

"Good thinking. I'm glad we have a guy with us. As women, I imagine we were kept in the dark--or at least, they tried to keep us in the dark," she added smartly. "I also think we should hone our fighting skills, just in case. Clark, I don't suppose you know anything about fencing or archery?"

"Oh yeah, I learned it when we did Medieval Weaponry in gym last year," he said sarcastically.

"I watch _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ reruns," Lana added.

"Great. We'll vanquish enemy knights with wooden stakes," Gillian said dryly. "Looks like we're going to start at square one. Come on, Clark… I'll change into something practical, and we'll have our first fencing lesson."

"I want to learn, too," Lana spoke up.

"You do?" Gillian regarded her with surprise. "OK, then… the more, the merrier. Clark do you think your squire would mind greatly lending me some of his clothes?"

"He'll do it. If not, I'll threaten to make him clean the cesspit."

Lana arched an eyebrow. "You're really getting into this knight stuff, aren't you?"  
"You gotta admit, it is kind of fun."

"Fun until you have a crossbow rammed down your throat," Gillian said wryly. "But I see what you're saying. Father and I have always been dying to see what it was really like. And I must admit, these medieval birds sure knew how to dress."

"Wish I could say the same for the guys," Clark remarked.

"Oh, I don't know. I think hose becomes you. Doesn't it, Lana?"

Lana felt her cheeks warm up, recalling her and Gillian's earlier conversation. "Oh, it does."

She felt gratified that Clark was blushing just as furiously as she was. Man, was he cute when he blushed…

_Enough of this!_ she told herself firmly. "We're on a tight schedule, so we'd best get going."

"Right. I'll see about getting you those clothes." Clark walked off to find his squire.

Lana tried very hard not to look at certain parts of his retreating figure.  
--

A week passed by, disappointingly uneventful. The three of them found little on Henry or Lianne. Whatever Lothar had been up to, Henry kept it well hidden. Lana didn't experience any more Lianne's memories, either.

She was beginning to feel desperate. In another week Lothar would be back. If he indeed tried to take Langdon by force, they were sitting ducks. How could three American teenagers--well, two American teenagers and a British college student--expect to hold off an army_? Damn it, why did we have to be chosen?_ she lamented. It may have been the adventure of a lifetime, but right now, all she wanted was to be safe and sound at home, where her biggest worries were her class project and exams and her driving test. Boring old life in Smallville was suddenly very appealing.

At least she could blow off some steam at fencing practice. Gillian proved to be a very apt teacher. Clark caught on surprisingly well, and even Gillian was impressed. "Maybe some of Kendrick's skill passed on to me," he said hopefully.

Lana, on the other hand, demonstrated only slightly more natural ability at fencing than at needlepoint. Not surprisingly, Gillian focused most of her energies on helping Clark while Lana was left at the mercy of Ralph. Not that the boy was a bad teacher, but his style of teaching always involved putting his hands on her to make sure she understood the proper body positioning.

Great. She was getting groped by a 14-year-old while Gillian got hot and sweaty with Clark. Life just wasn't fair.

Lana couldn't help but feel a small twinge of jealousy when she saw the easy, carefree way those two acted around each other. She and Clark hadn't been that way in so long. Maybe never. Everything with them had always involved so much drama. Couldn't it ever be that simple again?

These thoughts ran through Lana's head as she strolled outside the castle one day, the temperate breeze swirling her skirt around her slender legs. The day was unusually warm and humid, although it had nothing on Smallville in the summer.

The distant clash of metal alerted her that Clark was in the lists again, as he had been every afternoon of his stay at Langdon. He sure was dedicated! But then, maybe if she didn't suck so miserably at fencing, she would be, too.

She approached the lists, staying on the sidelines. Clark was engaged in a spirited fencing match with Ralph, blades flashing in the sunlight as they thrust and parried. Clark had stripped off his tunic and practiced only in his linen undershirt. Lana tried very hard not to notice the way the fabric clung to his broad chest, or to imagine the taut, sinewy muscles beneath. Perhaps watching sweaty Clark in a clingy linen shirt and hose might not be the best way to lower her body temperature.

Clark had gained the advantage and was slowly pushing Ralph back. He finally succeeded in disarming his squire, who held his hands up in protest. "No fair! The sun was in my eyes!"

"Excuses, excuses." Shaking his head, Clark affectionately tousled the boy's hair. "Good match, kid."

Ralph grinned broadly. It was clear the boy worshipped Kendrick. He'd be on cloud nine all day after that compliment.

Watching the affectionate, almost brotherly way Clark acted around Ralph, Lana felt a wave of tenderness rise within her. Clark was such a fascinating contradiction. One moment he was all soft and boyish; the next, all strength and gritty masculinity. It only drew her in all the more, making her want to find out which he really was.

Presently he glanced up, as if sensing her presence. Their eyes met. A shiver rode down her spine, and she felt silly and self-conscious. Had he noticed the way she was staring at him? God, she hoped not!

His easy smile gave no indication that he sensed her turbulent thoughts. "Hey, Lana. Been standing there long?"

"Enough to watch a great fencing match," she answered.

Ralph beamed.

So did Clark. "Come practice with us."

She laughed. "I'm not exactly dressed for it."

She did not miss the way Clark's eyes gave her body the once-over. "OK… maybe later then, after supper?"

"Oh, I don't think you'd like to work with me… I'm afraid my skill, or should I say lack thereof, leaves much to be desired."

"Well, that's exactly why you should practice with me," Clark reasoned. "I'll help you."

"Aye, and so will I," Ralph added importantly.

"Don't think so, squirt. You've got kitchen duty, remember?"

"Blast!" Ralph scowled. "And what's a squirt, anyway?"

"A squirt is an undersized squire who doesn't know when he's late to help with dinner."

"God's blood!" Ralph cursed, and promptly sprinted toward the castle.

Lana had to laugh. "You are so mean!"

"I was only trying to help," said Clark innocently. "He does have kitchen duty."

"Still…." She smiled. "He totally idolizes you, you know."

Clark ducked his head bashfully, dragging the toe of his shoe through the dust.

"I can't say I blame him. He probably thinks you're Superman."

He shrugged, giving a self-conscious smile. "Hate to burst his bubble, but I'm just a regular guy."

Lana shook her head. "No, you're not… not by a long shot."

For a moment they just stood there, smiling at each other, seemingly oblivious to all that was around them. Lana barely noticed the sound of hooves pounding the dusty ground, birds chirping, sheep bleating, or the blacksmith shouting abuse at an inept apprentice. All she noticed was Clark, standing in front of her with that adorable grin, dark hair curling in damp tendrils at his forehead and at the nape of his neck. He had such cute little dimples at the corners of his mouth. She'd loved to kiss them, to see the way it made him blush.

She swallowed, realizing her mouth had gone dry. "Maybe we should go in, get cleaned up before dinner."

"Oooh, dinner. I'm starving!" he said. "I wonder what bizarre concoction Cook will come up with today?"

She laughed. "Your guess is as good as mine."

He held out his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it, smiling. "Certainly, my lord."

Arm-in-arm, they walked back to the castle.

And Lana found herself both simultaneously anticipating and dreading tonight's fencing lesson.  
--

They met up in the tower chamber after supper, as planned. It was Clark's idea. He didn't want to be out in the lists after dark, particularly with Lana. The tower chamber was a spacious room, plenty big enough for some one-on-one fencing.

"Hey, Clark." Lana stood framed in the doorway, looking ethereally beautiful in the glow of the torchlight. "Thanks for taking the time to help me out."

"No problem." She was wearing a tunic and hose borrowed from Ralph. He tried not to think about the way the hose clung to her shapely legs and molded to her round, delightfully feminine bottom. Maybe this lesson wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"OK, um…." He cleared his throat. "I guess we could go over the seven strokes."

"OK." She drew the blunted practice sword she'd borrowed from Ralph.

They went through a few simple warm-up exercises. He immediately corrected her whenever he saw a mistake. "No, Lana, _fendente_, not _deritto_."

Lana looked confused. "Didn't I do that?"

"No… you've got them backwards. Here, let me show you."

He stepped behind her. "Your position is a little off. Shift your weight a little… see?"

He placed his hands on her waist, guided her to the correct position. She peered up at him, her cheek practically right against his. "Like this?"

He gulped. "Yeah. Now you move your hand like this…." He placed his hand over her sword hand and guided her through the stroke. Which wasn't easy to do when one's hand was shaking.

"Oh… I get it. Like this?" She swiped with the sword.

Clark yelped and ducked just in time. Thank God the sword was blunted, or he'd have just gotten a haircut. "You might want to wait till I get out of the way first!"

Lana clapped her free hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God! I am so sorry!"

"It's OK." He straightened up, gave a patient smile. "Let's try this again, shall we?"

He watched her, rather disappointed that she didn't need any more help with her positioning. They went through all the strokes, until he finally decided she was ready to try combat.

"You'll go easy on me, won't you?" she asked with a nervous smile, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"Don't worry. I won't whoop your butt… _too_ bad."

"Oh, you're so going to pay for that!" She assumed a fighting stance.

So began the match. Clark tried to rein in his strength as best he could, but he soon found himself fighting to keep up with her. What she lacked in strength she made up for in quickness and agility. Her smaller size helped her to duck and dodge his attacks, although she was considerably weaker in offense. They could work on that. He was able to win the match fairly easily, but he had to give her credit for effort.

"Good match, my lady." He gave a mock bow.

She laughed. "Why, thank you, my lord."

"You've really improved, just in one session."

"Really?" Eagerness lit up her face.

"Really," he answered, and he meant it. Lord, she looked so beautiful…. The soft torchlight highlighted her fine features to perfection, brought out golden highlights in her silken dark hair. Several strands had escaped from her braid and framed her face, dark and striking against her porcelain skin. Even her eyes seemed warmer, almost brown, and every bit as mesmerizing. His gaze traveled from those eyes to those soft, supple lips. Instantly he regretted it. Did he enjoy torturing himself or what?

"Maybe we should go…." she murmured, seeming to sense the turn his thoughts had taken. "It's getting late."

"Yeah, maybe." Neither of them made any move to leave.

Lana broke the moment, taking a step toward him. "I just wanted to thank you again for helping me. You already spend so much time practicing… I would think you'd be sick of it by now."

_I'd never be sick of spending time with you, whatever the reason,_ he thought, but did not dare say. "It's my duty to protect you," he said simply. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

"Clark…." There was no mistaking the warmth in her eyes as she gazed up at him. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because nothing could ever happen to me as long as you're here. You always seem to find me… against all odds."

"I meant what I said that day, you know," he told her. "I'll always come for you."

"I know." Somehow they'd moved even closer, so close that if he moved, even the slightest bit, he could touch her. "You've always been there… I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here now. You're the one who gave me the strength to survive this crazy place. You gave me courage."

"No, Lana," he denied. "You don't need me to give you courage… if anything, you give me courage."

"How?" she whispered. Their faces, which moments ago had been several inches from hers, were now a breath away.

"Because I couldn't imagine going on without you."

"And I couldn't imagine going on without you."

They hovered there for a moment, so close he could feel her breath. It happened before either of them could think the better of it. It was wrong, so wrong… but heaven help him, he was only a man, and he couldn't resist.

The kiss started off slow, tentative, irresistibly tempting. He pulled her closer, his hand pressing the small of her back as the kiss deepened. Her fingers danced over the curling tendrils at the nape of his neck and buried themselves in his hair. He remembered all too clearly how it felt to be with her, and if it was possible, it felt even more incredible now. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, urging her to open for him, then sliding into the soft warmth of her mouth. She made a soft whimpering sound and swayed slightly. Dear God, the sensation was so intense, he could feel his control starting to slip away. And when she pressed herself even closer, he was sure it would be his undoing.

"Clark…" Lana whispered, when he finally released her lips. "We have to stop…"

"I know." But he made no move to pull away. Neither did she. Rather, he captured her lips again, and this kiss was even more heated and passionate than the first. His hands moved over the graceful curve of her back, frustrated by the layers of fabric between them. He found himself undoing her belt and sliding his hands under the tunic and undershirt, onto her bare back. She gasped against his mouth, but did not pull away. Rather, she welcomed the sensation, tugging at his tunic as if she yearned to feel his skin as well. His hand gradually eased higher, coming around to cup a small, pert breast. He was rewarded by her soft sound of pleasure--right before she pulled away.

"Oh, man…. Lana, I'm sorry," he fumbled, still slightly dazed. "I-I thought you wanted…."

"I did." Her voice was barely audible. "I mean, I thought I did, but…"

"But what?"

"Don't you see?" she implored, finally looking at him. "None of this is real, Clark. It's just…."

"Just what?" he countered. "Lianne and Kendrick's feelings coming through to us?"

"Well, I am having her memories."

"Maybe, but you're still you," Clark argued. "That was you kissing me a minute ago. It was you who wanted me."

"_You_ were the one who kissed _me_!" she exclaimed.

"You didn't have to kiss me back!"

"Well, I can't help it if you're a good kisser!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh… I'm a good kisser, eh?"

"Don't let it go to your head," she grumbled. She brushed past him, hastily refastening her belt. "I'm going to bed."

He caught her arm, stopping her. "Lana, we need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," she said. "It was a moment of weakness. I was scared… I was vulnerable. I was grateful to you for saving my life. Please… can't we just forget it ever happened?"

"No, we can't," he insisted. "There's something going on here, Lana. I felt it. You felt it, too."

"Of course there is," she murmured. "We have a history. It makes sense that we'd be… attracted to each other."

"It goes beyond that and you know it."

She avoided his eyes, nervously licking her kiss-swollen lips. Damn it, but she would drive him crazy with tempting him. "Please," she mumbled. "Can we just not talk about it?"

He wasn't planning to let the subject drop, but the earnestness in her tone made him reconsider. "Fine," he said stiffly. "But if you think we're just going to go on like it never happened, you're dreaming big-time."

She finally met his gaze, a tremulous look in those round, doe-eyes that reflected his own conflicted thoughts. Then she turned and fled, leaving him standing alone in the tower room wondering what the hell just happened.

And knowing he wasn't getting a wink of sleep this night.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Sleep evaded Lana for hours after she left the tower room. When she finally did drift off, she was plagued by erotic dreams of what might have happened with Clark had she not pulled away. After awakening from yet another one of those dreams, she gave up on sleep altogether.

_What is wrong with me?_ she thought, pulling on a heavy cloak over her chemise. _Do I have sex on the brain or what?_

She lit a tallow candle and padded down the hall to the solar. She sank down on Lianne's window seat, gazing out over the castle. She was struck by how dark it was. There were no streetlights, no headlights of the occasional car passing on the road, nothing but a few torches burning on the battlements. The wind whistled through the parapets, a mournful and lonely sound in the deep stillness of the night.

She sighed, leaning her head back against the cool stone wall. She really was tired, despite her troubled sleep. She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she beheld a most curious sight.

She was no longer in the solar but in the room Gillian said was Henry's treasury. It was here where he conducted the business of running his fief, and saw his subjects about such matters as taxes, trade, or marriages. He was alone, turned slightly away from her. In his hand he held a book. It was elegantly bound in black leather, gilt letters spelling the title in swirling, graceful script. He looked up as she entered the room.

"Another new book, father?"

He grinned. "Aye, I seem to have an addiction."

She frowned when she saw the title. "A breviary? You already have several. What need have you for another?"

"You can never have too many of these." He placed the book on his shelf, among several other volumes. "I'm always losing them."

She shook her head. "I fear you're getting scatterbrained in your old age. Perhaps you should have the scribe help you with your business."

"Scribe is an addle-pated fool," Henry grumbled. "He'd make an even bigger mess of my treasury than I do."

She laughed. "You're probably right," she agreed. "Come now, Father, 'tis time for dinner. You can't miss it again on account of this business of yours. 'Tis terribly unhealthy, not to mention sinful. Think of the poor with nothing to eat but our leftovers."

"Typical Lianne, always thinking of those less fortunate," said Henry affectionately. "I shall give extra alms at mass tomorrow. Does that satisfy you?"

"Not as much as if you come to dinner."

"Then I shall." Smiling, they both walked out of the room.

Lana awakened sprawled out on the window seat in the solar. She stretched, groaning. Her muscles were sore from sleeping on the hard seat, and she had a killer crick in her neck. Not to mention that she was freezing. Her cloak didn't do much to keep out the cold.

She glanced out the window, the faint yellowish smudge on the horizon alerting her that it was almost dawn. Wearily she made her way back to her chamber, where she fell into her feather bed gratefully.

She woke to the sound of Gwyneth puttering around. Her eyes opened to see her lady-in-waiting laying out a peach-colored gown and clean linen chemise. Gwyneth smiled. "Good morning, milady."

"I overslept," Lana mumbled. "Why did you not wake me?"

"I tried, but you wouldn't move. Lady Anne said you weren't feeling well, and bid me leave you until after morning mass."

"Oh." That was nice of Gillian. She had to thank her later. Finally hauling herself out of bed, Lana let Gwyneth help her dress.

A half-hour later found her wandering about the keep, in search of Gillian. Having no luck finding her, Lana figured she was in the lists. Swell. Guess who else was probably in the lists.

Just her luck, he was the first person she saw when she got there. Clark was practicing his fencing, working himself so hard poor Ralph could barely keep up. The boy was sweating buckets in the hot midday sun, but Clark seemed as fresh as if he'd just woken up.

"Mercy, my lord! Are you tryin' to kill me?" Ralph protested at last, panting.

It was only then that Clark realized what he was doing. "Sorry… I didn't realize I was being so hard on you."

"I need to catch my breath for a moment." Ralph sank down on the dusty ground, exhausted.

Meanwhile, Clark continued practicing on his own. Lana watched the almost effortless grace of his movements, the way those long fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. She remembered how those fingers had touched her last night, and to her horror found herself blushing.

_Stop thinking about him that way!_ she ordered herself. And damn it, was it really that hard for him to put on a tunic?

He noticed her watching him, met her eyes. The turbulence in his eyes reflected what he saw in hers, she was sure. She drew a breath and strode toward him, telling herself her palms were _not_ sweaty and her heart was _not_ beating at an accelerated rate. "I had another one of Lianne's memories last night."

"You did?" He sounded surprised. Relieved. What did he think she was going to say?

"Yeah… I thought you and Gillian would want to know. I think it's a clue about what Henry was up to."

"I'll get Gillian." He jogged across the field toward the girl in question, who was practicing her archery. Gillian promptly came jogging back, and the three of them returned to the castle.

They immediately headed to the treasury. "Henry was carrying a book," Lana explained. "It was black, with gold lettering."

"That narrows it down a bit," Gillian said dryly. Henry only had a shelf full of books. Gillian had been amazed at the amount he had, considering that at the time books were costly and difficult to make.

"Do you remember anything else?" Gillian asked.

"Lianne called it a breviary, or something like that."

"Ah, a prayer book," Gillian clarified. "Practically everyone carried one in these days."

They combed Henry's bookshelf, with no success. "We'll try his chamber," Gillian suggested, noticing Clark and Lana's disappointed expressions. So the three of them trooped up the stairs.

As they searched, Lana noticed with a pang that Lianne had not had the room cleaned since Henry's death. All of his belongings were just as he had left them. _Poor Lianne,_ she reflected. She must've been really close to her father.

"Bingo!" Gillian exclaimed several minutes later, producing the breviary with a grin. She'd found it in Henry's travel satchel, as though he'd been planning another trip after he returned from France.

Clark and Lana crowded around as she flipped through it. After several moments of close inspection, they came up with nothing but a bunch of prayers. "Blast!" Gillian cursed. "Not another dead end!"

"Let me see that," Clark said.

Shrugging, Gillian handed over the breviary. "Knock yourself out, but I fail to see the point. We looked through it three times."

Clark took the breviary, stared at it intently for a minute before drawing the dagger tucked in his belt. He slashed neatly at the binding.

"What are you doing?" Gillian demanded, aghast. "Why on earth would you cut such a beautiful book?"

She scrambled over in time to see him withdraw several pieces of parchment from inside the cover.

"Clark, that was brilliant!" Lana exclaimed. "How did you know to look there?"

"Yeah, you got X-ray vision or what?" Gillian added.

Clark shrugged, gave an awkward smile. "I figured if Henry was hiding something in this book, he'd put it somewhere no one would think to look."

"Good thinking." Gillian snatched the parchments and scanned them. "These are a gold mine!"

"Why? What does it say?" Lana asked.

"These are correspondence between Henry and Edward of Bedford, father of Lianne's betrothed. Apparently Bedford was a close ally of Langdon's." Gillian read the first letter. "'I advise your son to keep a close eye about him while in France. We may have a traitor in our midst." She flipped to the next parchment. "It says more of the same… he seems sure someone is betraying them, leaking English intel to the French king."

"Really? Does he have any idea who?" Clark asked.

"No. But Blackwood is one of a handful he suspects. One thing for sure, Henry is keeping tabs on him. He says Blackwood was having frequent correspondence with someone in France, which is odd since he doesn't have any holdings there. An ally, perhaps?"

"Or a spy," Lana speculated.

"Oh, this is interesting… Henry seems to think that Blackwood might be part of a network of nobles involved in some kind of conspiracy. He also has corresponded with the earl of Sedgwick, who has supposedly long opposed the king. Wow… this is even more complex than we thought."

"Looks like we've stepped right into a medieval version of _Alias_," Clark remarked.

"Do you think this is incriminating enough evidence to take to the king?" Lana asked.

"I doubt it," said Gillian grimly. "We can't prove anything with it. But hey, at least it's progress. If only we could find more evidence. Blackwood's got to slip up eventually."

"I don't know, Gillian," Clark said doubtfully. "He's pretty smart."

"Then we'll outsmart him," Gillian declared. Lana wished she could share her confidence

"Well, I guess there's nothing more we can do at the moment," Clark concluded. "At least we know what to look for now. Good work, Lana."

"Thanks, but all I did is have a dream," she said.

"That's more than can be said for the rest of us," Gillian pointed out. She glanced from Clark to Lana. "Jeez… first it's Clark and his hunches and now you and your dreams. I feel like I'm in the _X-Files_ or something."

Lana shrugged, smiling. "I guess we're just a couple of freaks… you've heard the rumors about Smallville."

"No kidding," Gillian said dryly. "But for a couple of meteor freaks, you two are all right. Now I don't know about you, but I'm starving, and it's almost time for dinner. Shall we?"

"Sure," Lana said, making sure to walk on the other side of Gillian from Clark. If Gillian noticed the awkwardness between them, she didn't show it. _Jeez, how am I ever going to get through this?_ Lana worried. It would be easy enough to avoid Clark at home, but not here, where they needed to stick together. Not to mention that if she were at home, she'd have never been tempted by clingy linen shirts and hose that molded perfectly to his God-given butt, and would thus never have ended up making out with him in the tower room of an English castle. Even now, a blush still crept into her cheeks at the thought of that encounter. It was so intense, so passionate… she'd rarely seen Clark so forward, barring the time he developed a penchant for black leather and gave her the kiss of her life at the Talon. But she'd liked aggressive Clark. Melted in his arms like butter in the pan.

_Willpower, Lana_, she told herself. She couldn't afford to put her heart in Clark's hands again. If he could never open up to her, allow her to know him the way she wanted him to know her, there could be no future between them. No matter how good the physical part was.

She wasn't a fool. She couldn't let herself fall for Clark Kent again.

Lana caught up with Gillian after dinner. "Hey, Gillian, got a minute?"

"Yeah, sure," Gillian replied. "What's up?"

Lana pulled her aside, out of earshot of the servants. "I just wanted to thank you for letting me sleep today. I had a late night last night."

"I noticed. I take it you were engaged in some vigorous physical activity with Clark?"

Heat rushed into Lana's cheeks. "Wh-what?"

Gillian's eyebrows shot up. "I was talking about fencing, but apparently you're talking about something else altogether!"

Lana prayed her face wasn't as red as it felt.

"Don't worry, I'm not judging," Gillian went on, casually. "Ex sex is great, isn't it? Such a guilty pleasure."

"I wouldn't know," Lana muttered, searching around for the flagon of wine. She was desperately in need of some right now.

"What? You mean to tell me you and Clark never got horizontal?"

Good old Gillian, blunt as always. "No, we didn't."

"Oh, my God. I would never have imagined." Incredulous, Gillian sat down at the table. "You two seem to have such a close bond… I just figured you must have done the deed at some point."

Lana shook her head. "Nope… never happened. We almost did this one time, but…"

"But what?" Gillian wanted to know. Then caught herself and added, "It's OK, I shouldn't pry."

"No, it's all right. I might as well tell you." Gillian already knew so much, so why not? Lana didn't have any close female friends. It was too awkward with Chloe, and she was dying to confide in someone.

"It was after the homecoming dance," Lana began, joining Gillian at the table. "It was such a magical evening… we thought for sure it would be the night. So we drove out to Lookout Point, and he spread out a blanket in the back of his truck… we brought protection and everything." She gave a dry, ironic smile. "Real romantic, huh, losing your virginity in the back of a pickup truck."

"Hey, not knocking vehicular sex here," was Gillian's response. "Seeing how I lost my virginity in an SUV, I'm hardly one to talk. At least Clark's truck has lots of room. The gearshift kept jabbing me in the back, and I had a bruise for a week."

"Uhh, OK," Lana said, not sure how to respond to that.

"So what happened?"

"Well, we didn't go through with it, obviously," Lana said. "I don't know… I guess we just psyched ourselves out. It was such a big step. I thought I was ready, but when it actually came down to it… I freaked out. So he just held me, and told me we'd wait as long as I needed to."

"Wow, that is so romantic," Gillian murmured. "So why did you let this guy go again?"

"I wonder about that all the time," Lana said honestly. "It's complicated."

Gillian nodded, and to Lana's relief did not ask about the circumstances of their breakup. They sipped their wine in silence for a moment before Lana spoke. "Gillian, what was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"You know…" Lana's cheeks grew warm again. "Losing your virginity."

Gillian thought for a moment. "It was… messy. Awkward. It isn't what it's cracked up to be. Movies make it look like this perfect, romantic moment, you know? But in reality it's just… it's carnal. Physical."

"I see." It wasn't the answer she'd hoped for.

"But with the right guy, it can also be pretty amazing," Gillian added.

"Your first… was he the right guy?"

Gillian shook her head. "Far from it. Oh, he was plenty hot… his name was Vic, and he was an American exchange student at my school. We'd been going out for a while, and it came up a couple times. I figured if he wasn't the right guy, I didn't know who was. How do you know who the right guy is, anyway? So I went through with it."

"In his SUV.".

"Hey, it was the only place we could get any privacy. We were at boarding school."

"Not judging." Lana gave a knowing smile. "Do you regret it?"

"Sometimes… I can't say I didn't get what I expected out of it. I've never been a romantic. And I can't say I was surprised when Vic broke up with me at the end of the semester. But sometimes, I do wonder how it would have been if I had waited for the so-called right guy."

"Did you ever find him?" Lana asked.

Gillian shook her head. "No… never been in love, or at least, what I think love would be. I've had my share of blokes, but no one I've ever been that crazy over. Well, there was this one guy, Dan, whom I dated before I came to Smallville. We'd been friends for a long time, and just sort of fell into it… being with him felt so natural, you know? But we never had time to explore it. I left England, and we both agreed to see other people."

Lana could relate. "The proverbial one who got away, huh?"

"Yep," Gillian agreed. "Who knows what'll happen when I go home again. When I first met him, Clark sort of reminded me of a younger version of Dan. I admit to a bit of jealousy when I see you with him … not because I fancy him, but because of what you two have. I wonder if I could've had that with Dan, if I'd given him the chance."

"You never know," Lana said.

"Exactly… and you spend your whole life wondering if he was the one who got away," Gillian said pointedly.

Lana pretended not to take the hint. "You think Clark and I really have something?"

"Yes, I do… but if it's love, you're the only one who knows that. I can't speak from personal experience, but I imagine you'd know if he was The One, too."

Lana took a moment to digest that. "It's just… it's so confusing right now."

"Then you're not ready," Gillian said frankly.

Lana nodded, taking her words to heart. Then she rose from the table. "I have to go. Thanks for talking to me, Gillian."

"Anytime," Gillian replied. "This conversation… it was rather nice. We should have more of them."

Lana smiled, shyly. "Yeah… we should."

With that, they both left the Great Hall and headed their separate ways.


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Early the following morning, a small, cloaked figure stole out the mighty gates of Langdon Castle, astride a snowy-white horse. The horse and rider made their way through the forest to a small, crude hut, its one occupant—or two, if one counted the cat—came to the door before the visitor could so much as knock.

"Ah, Lana, I've been expecting you," Isolde greeted, her face breaking into a welcoming smile.

"You know my name?" Lana asked, not expecting that.

"And that surprises you because…?"

"Good point." She entered the hut. The crisp morning air carried a bite that cut right through her cloak, but the hut was surprisingly warm and cozy. A fire burned in the hearth, and Isolde's fat black cat was curled up contently before it. It surveyed Lana through lazy green eyes as she walked in.

"Have a seat," Isolde invited, indicating the two old wooden chairs before the fire. "I'm afraid I haven't much, but I so rarely have visitors."

"That's OK. Thank you for having me." Lana sank down onto one of the chairs. The cat strolled over toward her, rubbed against her legs. "Hey there," she said, reaching down to scratch its velvety head. A low purr rumbled from its throat.

"You've come to see me about the young man," Isolde said. It was a statement, not a question.

Not for the first time, a shiver slid down Lana's spine at the woman's ability to read minds. "I suppose there's no point in asking how you know that."

"Smart girl. I like that."

Lana returned the woman's smile, fidgeting with her skirt. So much for casually working the subject into the conversation. "I notice I've been having some of Lianne's memories. I was wondering… could it be that I'm having her feelings as well?"

"Feelings about what?"

"About Clark—er, Kendrick." Lord, she was blushing like a seventh-grader during sex ed. What was wrong with her?

"I see." Isolde regarded her with an unnervingly knowing gaze. "You and your young man have formed an attachment."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Lana mumbled. "But I've been having feelings… and I wonder if it's possible if Lianne and Kendrick's feelings are somehow coming through to us."

"Is that what you think? That whatever you're feeling for your Clark isn't real?"

"Well, yeah," Lana answered. "Maybe…"

Isolde looked at her thoughtfully, and Lana began to squirm under the woman's gaze. "This is powerful magic, my child," Isolde said after a moment. "Even I haven't a full grasp of what it's capable of. But I can tell you that Lianne is there inside of you, as Kendrick is inside of Clark. Until you are returned to your time, they will be a part of you. Vestiges of them, like memories, can come through. But such complex feelings as love cannot transcend. Perhaps you might feel a kinship with your young man, or a vague pull toward him, but nothing more."

Lana gulped. This wasn't what she wanted to hear. "So you mean… my feelings for Clark are real?"

"If you ask if they are your own, then yes."

Lana had begun to feel lightheaded. Maybe she shouldn't have cut out of morning mass without so much as breakfast. "I… I should go. Sorry if I disturbed you. Thank you for your time, Isolde."

"You know you are welcome anytime, my child."

Lana rose slowly to her feet. She was about to go to the door when a light touch on her arm stilled her.

"Here," Isolde said. "I want you to take this with you."

Lana watched as the old woman handed her a small amulet. It was a tiny glass ball, hung on a silver chain. Inside the ball was a tiny, beautiful little flower, colored bright yellow with orangey pinks at its center. The colors of the sunset.

"'Tis a charm to protect unmarried girls," Isolde explained. "It works quite well. Keep it on you. 'Twill prevent you from getting with child, unless of course it is the Goddess's will."

"You mean this is some form of medieval birth control?" Lana eyed the necklace skeptically. A thought of the occasion that required it flashed through her mind, sending a warming tingle to her cheeks.

"I'm afraid I do not understand you," Isolde said. "But it's very important that you wear it. Even if you think you'll not need it, you will find that affairs of the heart are not always easy to control."

Wasn't that the truth. Lana nodded, awkwardly gripping the charm. "Thank you, Isolde."

The old woman merely smiled, a knowing twinkle in her pale blue eyes.

Lana exited the hut. "You shall know love, my child," Isolde murmured after Lana's retreating figure. "Oh, the happiness you could both share if you would only let yourselves. He loves you. And I can see that you love him, too."

Lana gripped the amulet, the metal growing warm against her sweaty palm. The whole idea was ludicrous. It was _hokey._ It was…

It was the only thing she had.

_I'm never going to need it,_ she told herself, stuffing the amulet into her coin purse.

Or would she?

Memories of her conversation with Gillian flashed through her mind as she rode through the woods. She was actually grateful for the long ride, for a chance to clear her head. Her talk with Isolde left her confused, distraught, overwhelmed… and kind of thrilled.

_It can't be,_ Lana told herself, firmly. _I'm not that stupid. I can't be falling for Clark all over again. _

Lust, that was all it was. She was seventeen, for Pete's sake. Full of hormones. It was the thin linen shirts. The hose. The fact that he looked so damn sexy wielding a sword.

The fact that he always knew just what to say to her, just how to look at her to make her lose control of her senses and all of her cool. Just how to show up in time to save her life. Just how to kiss her and make her forget that anything and anyone existed but him.

_The proverbial one that got away._

It didn't have to be that way…

_Oh, what am I going to do?_ Lana lamented, gazing over the mist-blanketed vista that was Langdon Castle. There was no use denying it. She was madly, insanely, against-her-better-judgment-head-over-heels in love with Clark Kent. Again.

She was wondering if she ever really fell out of love with him in the first place.

A treat was in store for the occupants of Langdon Castle. A group of jongleurs--traveling minstrels--had found their way to the castle, and were invited by Lady Anne to perform. Lady Anne assured them Lady Lianne wouldn't mind, and that she gave her leave to speak in her stead should an issue arise in her absence.

By nightfall, the Great Hall was crowded with revelers. Knights and ladies alike toasted the visitors, who launched into a lively medieval ditty. They played the lute, drums, tambourine, various woodwinds, and a guitar-like instrument Gillian called a rebec. The jongleurs were dressed in gaily-colored tunics and hose that appeared to be patched of multiple fabrics. Parti-colored clothing, according to Gillian, was quite the fashion.

Clark watched as Lana and Gillian entered the Great Hall. He wasn't the only one. The pair attracted the attention of quite a few young knights, and it wasn't hard to see why. _Lord, she is so damn beautiful_, he thought, his gaze fixed on Lana. Gowned in yellow silk, her hair held back by a gold circlet and flowing in silky dark waves over her shoulders, she had never looked so radiant. He could not help but notice how the tightly laced bodice clung to every curve, how the neckline plunged just low enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of décolletage. But most fetching of all was the brilliant smile that illuminated her face, her silvery laughter drifting across the hall like a cool breeze.

Gillian walked beside her, gowned in midnight-blue silk. Her hair cascaded down her back, pale and striking against the fabric. She seemed oblivious to her and Lana's myriad admirers as she scanned the hall for Clark.

Sighting him, she broke into a brilliant smile, but did not wave. For a lady of her station to do so would be horrifically gauche. Lana's eyes found Clark's and held them a moment, before she hesitantly followed Gillian.

"You look amazing," Clark said as soon as Lana approached him.

She smiled, her cheeks tinged a faint pink. "So do you."

Tonight he wore one of Kendrick's finest tunics. Made of rich blue brocade, it had enough jewels affixed to it to do any rapper proud. With it he wore Kendrick's dress hose, which were nearly skintight. It was a real shame spandex wouldn't come around for another 750 years or so, because their tightness made it difficult to move.

"I kinda dig medieval style," Lana kidded. "Now it's the guys who have to suffer in tight clothes."

"Ha ha. Have your fun while it lasts," Clark cracked.

"Oh, I will," she joked, but his words brought with them the somber reminder of how far from home they were. Would they ever see Smallville again? But with all the festivity going on around them, it was impossible to stay serious for too long. The music was rousing; several courtiers had already taken to the floor. They lined up at its center and began a synchronized dance much like American square dance.

"Oh, wow!" Gillian exclaimed. "This is so awesome… the Anachronism Society has reenacted medieval dances, but now I'm seeing them as they were actually done!"

"So you know how to do it?" Clark asked.

"More or less." Gillian grinned archly at him. "Want to have a go?"

He shook his head. "I think I'll hold off on making a total fool of myself in public for now. It's bad enough I'm dressed like a member of 'N Sync."

"Actually, I think it's look kinda sexy," Gillian said playfully. "Don't you agree, Lana?"

Lana began to look extremely uncomfortable, but managed a smile for Gillian's sake. "Justin who?"

Gillian laughed. "So are you two seriously going to stand here like a couple of wallflowers, or are you going to dance? Come on! It's a feast. You know what? I think you need more wine." She scuttled off.

Lana grinned, shaking her head. "That Gillian is something else, huh?"

"You can say that again." He watched the vivacious beauty as she approached a handsome blond knight and proceeded to turn him into a stammering idiot within seconds. It wasn't very hard to fall victim to Gillian's charms, that was for sure.

The jongleurs switched to a slower song, a hauntingly beautiful ballad. _It's too bad I can't understand the words,_ Clark reflected. But maybe it was just as well. Did he really need to hear an angsty love song when he was standing here with Lana?

Everyone was dancing except them. It hadn't taken long for Gillian's blond knight to ask her to dance, and pretty much everyone had a partner, even the gawky adolescent squires. Would one dance really hurt? It was only for a few minutes…

"So," he asked Lana hesitantly, making up his mind, "do you think we could handle this?"

Her throat bobbed delicately as she swallowed. "Are you asking me to dance?"

"Um, well, yeah." _That was smooth,_ he thought sarcastically.

An uncertain smile spread across her features. "Well… OK…"

He held his arm out to her, unable to ignore the spark that passed between them as she took it. There was a marked undercurrent of tension between them as they took to the floor. He felt uncomfortable, tentative, as he pulled her close. Lord, you'd think he was some floundering freshman who did a great impression of a tongue-tied idiot any time Lana came anywhere near him. She wasn't even wearing the kryptonite necklace! But, he just noticed, she was wearing a new necklace, one he hadn't seen before.

"Is that necklace one of Lianne's?" he asked, hoping to break the tension with conversation. All he succeeded in doing was reminding her that he'd been looking at her chest.

Which seemed to disquiet her greatly. "Er… yeah. I, um, found it. I thought it was pretty so I wore it."

"It is pretty. Very unusual."

She gave a brief, tight smile and said nothing.

_You are an idiot,_ he berated himself, scrambling for something appropriately innocuous to talk about. "This is a nice song, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "I wish I could understand the words. It's in Middle French, isn't it?"

"Sounds like it. Maybe Gillian understands it… I know she speaks Middle French."

"Yeah… but she seems a bit busy at the moment." Lana glanced toward the girl in question, who was dancing with the handsome blond knight.

They spent the remainder of the song making small talk, or at least Clark thought they did, but he couldn't remember a word they said. Fortunately, the jongleurs soon launched into another upbeat number. A peal of delightfully feminine laughter drew their attention to Gillian, who was dancing a lively jig with the blond knight. It looked like fun.

Clark turned to Lana with a what-the-hell smile on his face. "Want to try it?"

Lana shook her head. "I'm definitely going to need more wine before I try that!"

"Then maybe we should remedy that problem."

"Good idea." With a smile borne as much of relief as of affection, she followed him off the floor.

Wine was good. Wine made people happy. Wine involved very little bodily contact.

Because he honestly didn't know how he was going to handle it if he had to have any more bodily contact with Lana tonight.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

The party was definitely picking up. As the evening wore on and more wine was consumed, the festivities grew even livelier, and it wasn't long before Lana got into the mood, too. The wine was good, the music was fun, and the spectacle before them was so amazing that she wondered how she could possibly have been so uptight earlier. It was time to relax! Forget about the weirdness with Clark and just enjoy the evening.

They finally ventured back onto the floor, doing their best to imitate the steps of the other dancers. What ended up happening was that they repeatedly stumbled, bumped into each other, and stepped on each other's feet, which wasn't hard given the size of Clark's pointy shoes. But eventually they caught on. Lana couldn't recall having this much fun in such a long time. Those medievals sure knew how to party!

The revelry went on well into the evening, ending only when the torches burned low and the jongleurs retired for the night. Clark and Lana left the Great Hall together, stepping out onto the battlements for some fresh air.

"Wow, who knew medievals could throw such a great party, huh?" she joked.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It was just what we needed, with everything that's been happening."

"Totally." Lana gazed out over the darkened castle. "I just wish… I wish I knew that we were going to get home. It's so hard sometimes, not knowing."

"We'll get home," he said. She wished she could believe him.

She looked up at him, the cool breeze stirring a stray wisp of her hair. She saw his hand move, and wondered if he'd reach up to brush it aside. She held her breath, but his hand just melted back down to his side. She tried to hide her disappointment.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked. "As much fun as tonight was… I miss home. I miss the streetlight shining through my window and the sound of cars on the street and the neighbor's obnoxious rap music."

That brought a smile to his face. "I can't say the same about obnoxious rap music, but I understand what you mean. Still, being here… there's a lot to be said for it."

"How do you figure that?" Lana asked. "Don't you miss your loft? Your truck…your room?"

"Of course I do. But it's been such an incredible adventure. We've seen what no historian has. And we…" His voice trailed off.

Lana felt her heartbeat pick up. "We what?"

"We've spent more time together than we have in ages." His face was in a shadow, but she still felt his eyes on her. "At home, we'd just keep avoiding each other. We'd try not to say the things we know we're thinking. We'd try to ignore what's been happening between us."

Lana looked away, the conversation taking a sudden uncomfortable turn. "Clark, do I have to remind you that you broke up with me?"

"I know. But is it so bad of me to wonder… if I might've made a mistake?"

She turned back to him, her heartbeat kicking into overdrive. "Are you saying you want to get back together?"

He hesitated. "I don't know. It's just… can't you feel it? Something's changed. I don't know how you can go on acting like the other night didn't happen."

She let out a shaky breath. "Because I have no choice."

"Do you… do you still think what we're feeling isn't real?" he asked.

She swallowed and realized her throat had gone dry. "I don't know what to think anymore."

For a moment neither of them spoke, but they didn't need to. Lana wasn't sure how she knew, but when she turned around Clark was right next to her. He was gazing at her with an intensity that frightened her as much as it thrilled her.

"I wish…" She glanced down, trying to find the words to express her turbulent thoughts. "I wish it didn't have to be so complicated."

"I know," he said.

"Can't we just forget about it?" she asked, earnestly. "Can't we just ignore all the messy stuff, and can't you just be kissing me right now?" (1)

She saw his Adam's apple bob, saw the heat in the green depths of his eyes. It was dangerous. Exciting. "That can be arranged," he said huskily, just before he cupped her face in his hand and brought her lips to his.

The first kiss was soft, tentative, yet crackling with an undercurrent of heat and withheld passion. The next kiss was deeper, the third deeper still, and fourth… the fourth was absolutely incendiary. Her arms floated around his neck as he pulled her closer, taking her mouth aggressively, as through claiming her in some primitive way. His tongue coaxed her lips apart and she opened willingly for him. A curl of heat unfurled in her stomach, igniting a chain reaction of tingles across her skin. What little control she had was rapidly slipping away. And as his tongue eased into her mouth and stroked sensuously against hers, she thought she would incinerate.

It was wrong. Oh, so wrong. But nothing ever felt so good, so deliciously indulgent… so absolutely wonderful.

"Clark," Lana whispered, in the brief moment when he released her lips before capturing them again in another heated kiss. She pressed herself closer still, gripping his shoulders, tugging at his tunic. He reached up and pulled the circlet from her hair, letting it fall loose into his hands. Her head fell to the side to give access as he trailed his lips along her neck, dipped his tongue into the exquisitely sensitive spot where her ear met her face. A soft gasp issued from her mouth, but rather than being frightened by how quickly this all was moving, she was excited… and she wanted more of it. Her very blood seemed to run hotter, her body tingling with a wantonness she'd never known before.

She kissed him with every bit as much heat as he kissed her, easing her hands over his muscular chest to undo the laces at the front of his tunic. There was too much fabric between them. She wanted to feel his skin, as she had in the tower room. He pulled back just long enough to strip off his tunic, then hauled her back against him again. Her hands flattened against his hard chest, acutely aware of the taut bands of muscle beneath his shirt. This still wasn't close enough for her. She wanted to be closer still.

Isolde's necklace felt cool and hard against her fevered skin as they continued to kiss. She felt a tug on the back of her bodice as he tried to unfasten the laces, and he cursed softly at his lack of success. "Jeez, and I thought a bra was hard to unfasten."

She laughed gently. "Maybe if I turn around…"

"Nah, I think I got it." He gave another tug and the bodice fell open. The cool air whispered across her skin as he eased the fabric down to her waist, leaving her upper body clad only in her chemise. The linen was very fine, almost transparent, and the outline of her nipples was clearly visible.

She could tell from the heat in his eyes that he noticed it as well. Her soft sigh was swallowed up by his mouth as he pulled her against him, tracing his hands sensually over her back, igniting a fierce heat within her that seemed to spread through her limbs like liquid fire. His hand eased up higher to cup her breast, his touch electrifying through the thin fabric. She moaned softly against his mouth as he traced his thumb across her nipple, which instantly tightened to a diamond-hard peak.

She offered no protest as he eased her chemise down, leaving her bare to the waist. Maybe she should have felt self-conscious, but all she felt now was desire, a fierce urge to have him touch her without the cumbersome fabric being in the way. She helped him take off his undershirt, the cool air rushing across their newly bared skin.

His hands came down to cup her bottom before he hoisted her onto the parapet, stepping into the space between her legs. "Clark, don't stop," Lana whispered has he bent to kiss her neck. Rational thought had been left behind a long time ago. "I want you to touch me… don't ever stop…"

He planted a soft kiss on her throat, before bending lower to draw her nipple into his mouth. He traced his tongue around the taut pink bud, eliciting a gasp of shock and delight. "Oh, God… Clark…" Lana whispered, burying her hands in his hair, the pleasure so intense she thought she might explode. Where did he learn this stuff? Or did she really care, as long as he was doing it to her? All she knew was that self-control was impossible by now. Her body seemed to take on a mind of its own, her breathing becoming quick and shallow as wet heat rushed to the place between her thighs. Passion and desire and need tangled together, and all she knew was that she wanted him… and he wanted her. When he came up to kiss her, she felt his arousal press against her, rock-hard and demanding.

_So this was how it's going to happen,_ she thought dimly. On the battlements of a castle… thousands of miles and 800 years from home…

"Clark, I want you," she whispered feverishly against his neck.

"I want you, too, Lana," he whispered back.

"Are we… are we going to…?" she started.

There was no telling what might have gone on next if not for the sudden slam of a door in the hall. Clark and Lana bolted apart, standing still as the stone walls and scarcely daring breathe. The distinct sound of footsteps grew in volume, approaching the battlements. "Shit," Clark cursed, hastily ducking into the shadows. Yanking her bodice up to cover herself, Lana followed him.

The doorway leading to the allure creaked open. They held their breath, flattening themselves as much as they could against the wall. Someone walked out onto the battlements. "Hello?" a female voice called. "Is anyone out here?"

When she got no reply, the servant snuffed out the torch and walked away. She had almost reached the door when Lana, kneeling in an awkward position, lost her balance and grabbed at Clark for support. Her boot made an obvious scratching sound against the stone.

They both froze as the servant, the one named Eleanor, peered in their direction. Apparently they were safe, though, because she just turned around and headed back to the door. "Must've been one of those cursed rats," Lana thought she heard Eleanor mutter, just before she disappeared inside the castle.

Clark and Lana finally emerged from the shadows, letting out simultaneous sighs of relief. "Man, that was close," she murmured.

"I'll say." She couldn't tell if he was talking about Eleanor or something else.

Frankly, her mind was still spinning when it came to that something else. _Good God, what were we thinking?_ she thought frantically. It was as if some kind of force came over them that made it impossible to control themselves. She'd been attracted to him before, obviously, but never to the point of having an urgent need to rip his clothes off right then and there.

And it was a need that still hadn't been quelled sufficiently.

_Affairs of the heart are not always easy to control._

Apparently, neither were affairs of the body.

"I, um, I think I should go," she said awkwardly, aware that she was still holding her bodice over her breasts. She hastily slipped her arms back into the sleeves of her chemise.

"Maybe you're right." At least Clark seemed as shaken up by the encounter as she was.

"So…" Lana said.

"So…" Clark replied.

This was going well.

"Why don't we just say good night and be awkward later?" Lana finally suggested.

"Sounds good to me."

She nodded, backing toward the door. The sight of him with his shirt off wasn't doing any good as far as her restraint went. She quickly averted her eyes and, having nothing more to say, fled.

What a night this had turned out to be.

_Wine is evil,_ Clark thought as he retreated to his chamber. _Evil, evil, evil._ But secretly, he knew what had happened between him and Lana tonight hadn't been because of the wine. At least not on his part. The few times he'd drank before, he knew he had a pretty high tolerance. And he wasn't the least bit drunk when he kissed her tonight.

At least, not on wine.

He was bone-tired, but sleep was a long time coming. Although he knew they'd done the right thing in stopping—granted, not of their own volition—that didn't prevent his body from feeling uncomfortably hot, unsatisfied. He thought of Lana sleeping down the hall and wondered if she felt the same way.

Maybe she was right. Maybe being here was dangerous. Away from home, all of the things that kept them apart somehow seemed to pale in comparison to their attraction, both physical and emotional. He knew he could never tell her his secret. Yet at the same time he wanted to badly to be able to let her in, to be close to her the way she wanted him to.

Why was it so important? Wasn't his love enough? Why did she have to keep asking for more?

He had tried to stay away from her. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that no matter what, somehow they would always come back to each other. That they had been transported back in time to apparently change history only reinforced his belief that they were somehow bound together.

He had vowed to protect her. And he would do that, no matter what the cost. If it meant lying to her, so be it. That was just the way it was going to have to be if she wanted to be with him.

She would just have to learn to come to terms with that.

_Oh, God, did I get run over by a train?_ Lana thought wearily. Her head pounded and her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Wine was evil.

And so was a world without Tylenol, for that matter.

"Milady, are you feeling all right?" Gwyneth asked, entering the room.

Lana nodded, slowly raising herself to a sitting position. The sunlight slanting through the window lanced her aching head like a white-hot dagger. "I've been better, but I'll manage."

Gwyneth went about her business of helping her dress. She chose a conservative, hunter-green gown, one that had a high neckline and did not cling too closely. And she made sure to leave Isolde's necklace in Lianne's jewelry box. She did not know what possessed her to wear it last night. _This is all your fault, Isolde,_ she thought grouchily. _I'm turning into a wanton wench and you're the one to blame._

At least, she liked to think so.

She managed to haul herself to morning mass. The pounding in her head alleviated somewhat, but when she sipped the wine during communion, she was afraid she might puke right on the poor priest's shoes. Breakfast wasn't much better. She forced down some bread and cheese, but even the smell of the mulled wine made her ill.

"Lana, you feeling OK?" Gillian asked with concern.

"If OK means 'like shit that got run over by a Mack truck,' yeah."

"Ah, it looks like you're getting acquainted with the wonderful world of hangovers."

"Goody."

"I'll have Eleanor fetch some water," Gillian offered. "Drink lots of water, and eat salty, greasy food. It helps me."

"Thanks." Lana could barely face the servant as she brought the glass of water. But Eleanor gave no indication that she suspected who had been out there on the battlements last night.

She was acutely aware of Clark's presence, though he was sitting at another table with a group of knights. He glanced up and caught her eye, and she looked away quickly. After breakfast, she tried to give him the slip, but he caught up with her on the way out of the Great Hall.

"Lana, we need to talk."

She was afraid he'd say that. "There's nothing to say."

"I don't agree."

She sighed, resigned. Guess there was no way of delaying the inevitable.

"About last night," he began, clearly as uncomfortable as she was. "There's a lot of excuses we can make for it… the wine, the party, being far from home… but it was too intense for me to believe any of that. At least, it was as far as I was concerned."

She nodded, fighting the blush that came on as she thought of the intimacy they had shared. "It was for me, too."

"So where does this leave us?" he asked.

"I don't know." She drew a slow, shaky breath. "Are we back together?"

"Is that what you want?"

A pause. "I don't know if I'm ready for that again," she admitted.

"Neither am I," he said, sounding equally uncertain. "But it looks like the decision is out of her hands."

She nodded again. "Do you… want to try again?"

"Would that be so bad?" His voice was low, soft, almost a caress.

Oh, why was she so easily affected by him? He could make her do anything, just by using that voice. "We could take it slow," she found herself saying. "Wait a while, see what happens before we…"

"Before we what?"

She gulped, wondering why it was so hard to get the words out. "Before we… take our relationship to the next level."

He seemed to understand what she meant. "Speaking of which, last night reminded me of something else. If we did… go to the next level… what do we do about protection? One thing the professor never mentioned to us was medieval birth control."

"Short of chastity belts, I don't think there was any." Her hand came up to her throat, only to realize that Isolde's necklace was not there. "You know that necklace I was wearing last night?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"I went to see Isolde yesterday… she gave it to me. She said it would keep me from getting pregnant."

He looked skeptical. "And you believed her?"

"It was pretty powerful magic that brought us here. I don't know about you, but I just might be starting to believe in it."

"It's getting pretty easy to believe in magic." The way he looked at her made her wonder if there was another meaning to his words. "What made you wear that necklace last night?"

She averted her eyes. "Affairs of the heart aren't always easy to control."

She continued to avoid his gaze, until the gentle touch of his hand on her cheek forced her to look at him. He traced his thumb across hr lower lip, feeling the way it trembled under his feather-light touch. Lord, he could break her just by looking at her. They moved closer together, swaying slightly, her eyes sliding shut as he planted a soft kiss on her forehead. She lifted her face as his mouth descended on hers, the kiss so tender and achingly sweet that she was sure she would melt.

Her arms drifted around him as he held her close, the gentle heat of his kiss stirring her to the depths of her soul. It felt so right to be with him this way, and she wanted to draw out the fragile perfection of this moment as long as she could.

And neither of them noticed that across the Great Hall, a pair of eyes watched them with interest.

Footnotes:

1) A shout-out to one of my favorite lines from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Said by Tara in "Seeing Red."


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

"_Come here, Lianne, there's something I need to show you."_

"_All right…" She followed her father out of the Great Hall. They walked up the narrow set of stairs that landed on an allure along the rampart._

"_The view from here is lovely, is it not?"_

"_Definitely," Lianne agreed. Before them stretched the forest, the trees marching down a steep incline and into the lush valley below. Far off in the distance was the sea, a faint mist-shrouded strip of blue on the horizon._

"'_Tis a shame I did not spend more time here as a child," Lianne remarked. She liked her father's estate in Brittany well enough, but something about the wild, untamed beauty of this land had captured her. Or perhaps it was the freedom she felt here. Her mother had never approved of her, always criticizing one thing or another. _

"_You'll never be a proper lady, Lianne," she complained. "If you would pay half as much attention to your needlework, the lute, or your voice as your father's moldy old books and that ghastly fencing and archery, there might be hope for you yet."_

"_Mother, I seek only the ability to defend myself," Lianne explained._

"_That's what we have men for," was her mother's crisp response. "Blast your brother for teaching you such horrid things. I do feel for poor Bedford sometimes. Look at that mussed hair! That rumpled gown! A woman's hands were not meant for swordplay. What man would want a woman with those calloused, manly hands?"_

_Lianne had been self-conscious about her hands ever since. _

_But her father was everything her mother was not. Loving and doting, he not only approved of her learning fighting skills but even encouraged it. "I would like to think a daughter of mine is not totally helpless," he joked. "And as for finding a husband, heed not what your mother says. I know Bedford; Robin will be good for you. He is the most decent of men, and he will accept you as you are."_

"_I know, Father." She sighed. "But I'm afraid… I do not love him. Granted, I honor and esteem him, but 'tis not what I always wished for myself."_

"_I'm afraid the love of which you speak is an invention of the bards, my dear. 'Twould be wonderful if we could all find it, but alas, so few of us do. I barely knew your mother when we married. I learned to cope."_

Aye, by escaping to England,_ she thought, but did not say._

"_In time, you will come to care for Robin, perhaps even love him. 'Tis more than most women find in this life."_

"_I suppose." But at eighteen, she longed for the love depicted by so many of her beloved _chansons_. Thus far only one man truly struck her fancy, made her heart beat a little faster and her blood run a little warmer. One look in those brilliant green eyes, and she was lost. But Sir Kendrick de Montclair was the last person she could expect to marry. A mysterious knight-errant of humble origins, he had neither lands nor a title. Worse yet, he was in the employ of Lothar of Blackwood, whom she knew her father mistrusted. She had long resigned herself to the fact that Kendrick, like her mother's acceptance, was just another impossible dream._

_Lianne's thoughts were pulled back to the present when her father led her back down from the ramparts. They entered the outer bailey, ducked and wove about through so many twists and turns that had she not known this castle so well it would have made her dizzy. Eventually they emerged at a particularly deserted section of the outer wall._

"_What is this all about, Father?" she asked._

_Henry's eyes were grim as he said, "I worry about you in my absence, Lianne. I'm afraid Blackwood is going to try something. In case he does, there's something you should know."_

_He felt along the stone wall until his hand hit a cleverly hidden catch. Lianne watched in amazement as the wall slowly swung inward, revealing a dark and cavernous passage._

"_You must make sure no one ever knows of this," Henry warned. "The wall has double reinforcement, to make up for the weakness, but an invader could still take advantage."_

_Lianne nodded, taking it all in. "Where does it emerge?"_

"_At a hidden location in the forest. 'Tis not important where. My only reason for showing this to you is, should Blackwood try to invade, 'tis a way out of the castle."_

_Lianne was disturbed by her father's suspicions. "Think you Blackwood intends to take Langdon by force?"_

"_I would put nothing past the man. My men will protect you, but I want to be sure you'll be all right while I'm gone."_

"_I'll be fine, father," Lianne assured him. "I pray I'll have no need of this knowledge, but I thank you for trusting me with it."_

"_In all honesty, I trust no one else."_

_Lianne was always impressed that her father had so much faith in her, a mere woman. He treated her as though she had intelligence, as though she were important. Would that she could find a husband who showed her such respect!_

"_You'll not be in France long. I can hold down the fort until you return," she said confidently._

_Her father smiled, but she could not shake the feeling that uneasiness lurked in the depths of his brown eyes. "I know, my daughter."_

_She smiled back, but the threat of war, both here and overseas, cast a pall over this otherwise beautiful day. She only hoped it would all end soon enough, and peace would eventually return to her life._

Early the following morning, a messenger arrived with tidings of Blackwood. He was back in England and would be arriving in Langdon on the morrow. He would have the lady's answer then.

The news only darkened Lana's mood even further. She had suffered a night of anxious, restless sleep. When she wasn't agonizing over Clark, she was vividly experiencing yet another of Lianne's memories. She fought to keep her eyes open during morning mass, despite Gillian's whispering translations of the sermon throughout.

Afterward, she told Gillian to go ahead to breakfast. Lana slipped into the confessional and crossed herself. "Father, bless me for I have sinned. It has been twenty days since my last confession."

"What ails you, my daughter?" asked the priest through the screen. He had a soothing, comforting voice.

Lana drew a deep breath. "I love a man I can never have. And on the morrow, another arrives expecting my hand in marriage, which I vow not to give him."

"Because you love this other man."

"Yes… and I fear this second man's intentions are dishonorable."

"And you know the man you love is good?"

"Aye, he is. He is the most decent man you'll ever meet," Lana said softly.

"I'm afraid 'tis a hard decision ahead of you, my daughter," the priest replied. "The life of a woman is not an easy one. Your second loyalty, after the Lord, is your husband or to your father. Would he wish you to be with either of these men?"

"He would wish me to be happy," Lana answered, slowly. "I could be happy with the man I love, but… 'twould go against everything I believe in. I know he loves me but he can't give me what I need."

"Then you must decide what is most important to you. Is love worth sacrificing everything, including your own honor? Can you live with this man, knowing he cannot provide what you need from him? Should you decide to wed him in the eyes of God and the king, you must be sure 'tis truly what you want."

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I know, father."

"Do not worry, my child," the priest assured her. "Pray. Search within your soul. You will find that God and your heart will lead you to the right answer."

Lana was comforted by his words, despite the fact that he didn't really tell her anything. "Thank you, Father."

"You know you're welcome anytime, my daughter."

She vacated the confessional feeling cleansed, reassured. But when the moment passed, she found herself as uncertain as she ever had been.

She loved Clark with a force so frightening and wonderful in its strength, she knew that giving him up was impossible. But was it worth having him if she could never have his whole heart? Would she be able to love him knowing there was always a part of him he kept secret from her?

_Maybe it is worth it,_ she decided. _Would it be better to have only part of him, or not to have him at all?_ Gillian had played it safe and left Dan behind in London. But she wasn't Gillian… she couldn't just take life as it came, keep a little distance between her and the guys she got involved with. Somehow her heart always got in the way, at least as far as Clark was concerned.

_Oh, God, I love him so much,_ she thought, fighting back a rising tide of despair. _Heaven help me._

Blackwood was coming back.

The news was enough to sour Clark's already-bad mood. He sat dutifully through morning mass, trying to look attentive even though he couldn't understand a word the priest was saying. But despite his best efforts, he kept glancing toward Lana and Gillian. Lana was careful never to meet his eyes. He knew they would have to hide what was going on between them, but it was driving him crazy. Every time he saw Lana, he wanted to drag her against him and kiss her senseless.

The fact that he was thinking such things in the house of God made him feel even worse, so he tried to focus his attention on the most unsexy thing imaginable. He reminded himself of that time on the class picnic when he was forced to see Mrs. Winston in a swimsuit. That was enough to kill any lustful thoughts he'd been having.

He saw Lana slip into a confessional after mass, and hung around outside the chapel despite his better judgment. He had to see her. Several moments later, he sighted a small figure making her way out of the chapel. She looked up, her eyes instinctively finding his. He strode over to her, and they both retreated into the shadows where they could speak discreetly.

Clark was going to greet her with a good-morning kiss, but the distressed look in her eyes stilled him. "Lana, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned. "You look upset."

Her throat bobbed delicately as she swallowed. "I had another one of Lianne's memories last night."

Judging by her expression, it couldn't have been good. "What did you see?"

"Henry was showing Lianne some kind of secret passage out of the castle. He was really worried about her, Clark. He seemed convinced that Blackwood wanted to harm Lianne, or more accurately to harm him _through_ Lianne."

"I see." Clark's mouth formed a grim line. "So you say there's a secret passage out of the castle somewhere?"

She nodded. "Yes… which also means it's a secret way _in_ to the castle. We need to find it, make sure this knowledge doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

"Exactly. If Blackwood really does plan to take the castle by force, we have to make sure no one knows about this passage but us."

They both glanced about to confirm that the corridor was deserted, and were relieved to see it was.

"Do you remember where the passage is?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Lianne knew the castle well, but I don't. I have a vague idea but not much more."

"Then we'll get Gillian. She's been to the site a few times, and maybe she knows something we don't."

"I hope you're right."

They found Gillian at breakfast. When the news of Blackwood's return arrived, it cast a shadow over everyone's mood. It was more important than ever to find the passage promptly.

Lana explained her vision to Gillian, who took it all in grimly. Then they set out to find the passage. Fortunately, Gillian was familiar enough with the castle to navigate the tortuous passage Henry had led Lianne through in Lana's vision. Once they reached the far end of the castle, they set about the daunting task of combing every inch of the outer wall—no small feat.

Making sure Lana and Gillian weren't looking, Clark used his X-ray vision to scan the outer wall. It wasn't long until he found what they were looking for. Casually, he made his way over to the section of the wall and felt around, pretending to be searching for the catch even though he now knew exactly were it was. After a moment, he called, "Hey, I think I found something!"

Lana and Gillian rushed over in time to see the cleverly hidden door slowly swing inward. When the door was shut, the wall appeared seamless—it would've been impossible to find the entrance to the passage if you weren't looking for it.

"Jeez, are you psychic or what?" Gillian wanted to know. "Clark, I have never met anyone so good at finding needles in haystacks as you."

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "My parents always said I had good eyes."

"I guess." Still peering curiously at him, Gillian walked over the passage door. Clark and Lana watched as she disappeared into the shadows, emerging a moment later with an unlit torch. "Flint and tinder, anyone?"

Moments later found them navigating the narrow passage. It was total darkness beyond the flickering glow of Gillian's torch, and Clark could tell it made Lana nervous. She reached for his hand in the dark, and he curled his fingers around hers reassuringly.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by Gillian, but she did not comment on it. "Man, this is freakin' awesome… I can't wait to get to the site once we get back home, and tell my Dad about this. He'll be stoked!"

Her smile slowly faded as a thought crossed her mind, the same thing they were all thinking: _if_ we ever get back home.

The passage was narrow, dank, and reeked of mildew and stagnant water. Likely they were passing under the moat. The walls were reinforced by several thick beams placed at frequent intervals, and soon the tunnel grew so narrow they were forced to walk single-file. There were several instances when they were sure they had reached a dead end, only to find that the passage went around a sharp turn. "Whoever built this was pretty smart… these turns will slow down invaders, should they find the passage," Gillian commented.

They walked on and on for what felt like forever, until Gillian's torch illuminated an earthen wall in front of them. Gillian shone the light all around to make sure they really had reached a dead end. "Looks like this is the end of the line, folks."

"So where's the door?" Lana wanted to know.

"It's gotta be around here somewhere." Gillian began examining the walls.

"This passage obviously hasn't been used for a while. Maybe it's buried," Lana suggested.

Clark used his X-ray vision again to locate the door, which was concealed by a thin layer of earth. "It's here."

Gillian glanced in the direction he indicated. "OK, Clark, you are officially weirding me out. You're not one of those meteor freaks I keep hearing about, are you?"

He shook his head. "Not as far as I know of."

Gillian began digging away at the wall, and he joined her. "Then you're clairvoyant," she concluded. "Do you think you might have The Sight?"

"The Sight?" he echoed blankly.

"Many pagan religions maintain that some are born with the ability to see into the future. Is anyone in your family is a practicing witch or warlock?"

He got a mental picture of his parents decked out in black robes and chanting over a cauldron, and nearly laughed. "Er, no. Not that I know of."

"Really… because I recall Isolde saying you were special, like Kendrick. There was speculation that he might've been a warlock, given his amazing feats in battle."

Clark gave an ironic laugh. "Gillian, have you been smoking something?"

"Smoking won't be around for another few centuries," was Gillian's tart reply. "So you're saying you don't believe in this stuff?"

"In a word, no."

"I'm surprised at you, Clark. You come from Smallville, capital of X-Files-ish weirdness, and you don't believe in the paranormal?"

"It's long been acknowledged that most of the weirdness that goes down in Smallville has to do with the meteor rocks."

"Perhaps… but what brought us here? Don't tell me those blasted meteor rocks. It was magic and you know it."

That gave him pause. "I guess that's the only explanation for it. But I can assure you, I don't have this Sight and I am definitely not a warlock."

"I don't know, Clark," Lana spoke up. "You sure you're not clairvoyant? You did get that phone call from me in the future… and we never really found an explanation."

"So what are you saying, you think I'm a warlock, too?" He tried to laugh it off.

"Maybe not a warlock… but you definitely have some… powers." He caught the coy twinkle and her eye and was extremely glad the darkness hid what he was sure was a blush.

Gillian was regarding them with barely disguised amusement. "Do tell."

"Oh, it's nothing you don't already know," Lana fudged quickly. "Clark has impeccable timing. He always seems to show up whenever I need him."

"See? I told you. The Sight," Gillian said knowingly. "He knows when you're in danger."

"He always did have amazing intuition," Lana agreed.

Clark was starting to get extremely uncomfortable. "Um, guys, do you mind if we postpone this conversation till later? It smells funky in here, and I'm starting to get mildly claustrophobic."

"What? The invincible Clark Kent has claustrophobia?" Lana said, the corners of her mouth turning up mischievously.

"I said _mild_ claustrophobia."

"Well, whatever your deal is, I'm also very much in favor of us getting out of here," Gillian spoke up. "Clark, you wanna help me with this door? It appears to be stuck. I need a strong buff guy, but I guess you'll have to do."

"Oh, you are so going to pay for that," he warned, with a teasing grin.

"Suppose that's what I get for pissing off a warlock," she kidded. They yanked the door open, ducking a shower of earth. Light filtered in through the opening, and thankfully, so did fresh air.

"So let's see where this tunnel ends," Gillian said. She climbed the rickety staircase leading out of the tunnel, with Clark and Lana behind her.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

They emerged in a sort of old wooden building, what looked like the remains of a crude one-floor keep. The ceiling had long since fallen through, leaving a gaping hole through which sunlight flooded in. Dust stirred as they crawled out of the trapdoor, coughing and sneezing. They dodged piles of dirt and rubble as they made their way out of the building. They found themselves in a small bailey, part of what appeared to be an abandoned fortress.

"Looks like an old Roman-style fort," Gillian commented. "I'm guessing it was in use before Langdon Castle was built."

Just then, Lana noticed a dark shape as it streaked out of the shadows and trotted over to them. "Hey… what are you doing here?" she asked, recognizing Isolde's cat.

He purred and rubbed against her legs.

"Methinks he likes you."

She, Clark, and Gillian looked up to see Isolde walking toward them. "I've been expecting you three," the old woman greeted them.

"Now why am I not surprised?" Gillian muttered. "Let me guess—you guided us here?"

"You catch on quickly."

"Why did you want to see us, Isolde?" Lana wanted to know. "Is something wrong?"

"Aye. My visions do not bode well for you." Isolde's expression grew somber. "Blackwood returns on the morrow. He will ask for your hand again, and you will refuse. But Blackwood is unaccustomed to anyone who will not bend to his will, particularly a woman. He'll not take it well."

"Um, no offense, Isolde, but that's something we've kind of figured out," Lana said tactfully.

Isolde's expression only became graver. "You do not know Blackwood. His evil is incalculable. Would that Alexander were the elder son, as he is a just and kind man like his father. But alas, 'tis Lothar who has the power now, and he'll stop at nothing to achieve his ends. He will attack Langdon—and he will succeed."

Lana stared at her, and in that instant she knew that Isolde had foreseen the whole story. "So you've seen it all," she murmured. "You know Kendrick will die for Lianne… for me."

Isolde did not answer, but her eyes told Lana everything she needed to know. Then she walked up to Clark, gently touched a withered hand to his cheek. "True love, my child, will be your blessing… and your downfall."

"No!" The force of Lana's outcry surprised even herself. "He'll not die here! I won't allow it."

"I know you won't. But sometimes sheer force of will is not enough to change what is written by fate."

"I don't believe in fate," Lana declared.

"But fate brought you together… just as it will eventually tear you apart."

Lana shook her head stubbornly. "It won't. If we have to change history, we'll do it."

"It cannot be done!" The force in Isolde's voice gave Lana momentary pause. "The prophecy will come true. But that does not mean you should sit idly by and watch it. Fate works in mysterious ways."

Lana frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Things aren't always as they appear," was Isolde's reply. "You mustn't lose hope. Fight. The fate of Langdon—and of your love—is in your hands. You say you've been experiencing Lianne's memories. She will send you another one soon, one that may help you understand."

They were silent for a moment, waiting for Isolde to go on. She did not. "So that's it?" Lana finally asked, her disappointment and frustration evident.

"I only tell you what I see. And so far, that is all."

They could see that they would get no more from the old woman. "Thank you, Isolde," Gillian said. "But I still refuse to believe that Clark's going to die here."

"Who said he was going to die here?" Isolde responded. "I said fate would tear him and Lana apart… just how that will occur, I know not."

Gillian let the subject drop, Isolde's grim words hanging over them like a pall. "We'd best be getting back to Langdon now. Fare thee well, Isolde."

"You, too, my child," Isolde replied. With a wan smile, Gillian turned and headed back to the keep with Clark and Lana in tow.

Lana felt a gentle touch on her hand, and looked up as Clark laced his fingers through hers. "Don't worry, Lana," he said quietly. "I don't plan on dying here."

She swallowed hard. "I will not let you die."

"I know." He squeezed her hand to reassure her, but it only made the lump in her throat swell even more. They lapsed into silence as they followed Gillian back into the passage.

Isolde watched after then, burdened down by the weight of her own predictions. "You have a rough road ahead of you, my children. Your love will be tested greatly before your journey is over. I only hope the strength of your love can see you through, and that the prophecy will not proceed as I fear it will."

Clark, Lana, and Gillian walked along in silence until they reached the castle. Making sure the passage door was closed firmly behind them, they embarked on the labyrinthine path back to the keep.

They had taken but a few steps from the passage door when Eleanor skidded to a stop in front of them. She was breathing heavily, her face chalk-white. She had clearly been running. "Milady! I've been looking all over for you!"

Lana became alarmed. "Why? What's wrong?"

"'Tis your father's room! Someone has tampered with it!"

The color drained from Lana's face. "Oh, God," she murmured. She, Clark, and Gillian practically sprinted back to the keep.

"Oh, no," Gillian moaned when they reached Henry's room. The room had clearly been searched, Henry's belongings scattered all over the place. Lana immediately ran over to his travel satchel, which lay open on the bed. When she picked it up, it was just as she feared. "The breviary's gone."

"Oh, _shit."_ Gillian sank down on the bed, head in her hands.

"Who could've done this?" Clark wanted to know. "We're the only ones who knew about the breviary."

"It could be anyone," Gillian answered glumly. "If Blackwood has a spy in our castle, there's no telling who it is or how much they know."

"Have you guys seen anyone acting suspicious?" Lana asked. Her suspicions were confirmed when both Clark and Gillian answered in the negative.

"Whoever it is has to be in a position to blend in, to be able to monitor our every move without us knowing," Gillian speculated. "My first guess would be one of the servants. They're trained to be invisible, to not attract attention to themselves."

"We wouldn't have paid any attention to a servant passing by in the hall," Lana concluded glumly.

"But there are dozens of servants in this castle," Clark pointed out. "How do we know which one it is?"

"Provided it even is a servant," Gillian made sure to add. "Although it seems like the most likely possibility, we can't rule anything or anyone out."

"Good point. So where do we go from here?" Lana asked, slumping down on the bed next to Gillian.

"Unfortunately, I don't think there's much we can do beyond keeping our eyes and ears peeled," Gillian replied. "Anything we say or do involving our suspicions about Blackwood must _never_ go beyond the three of us. We should also monitor anyone who passes in and out of the castle. If Blackwood gets his hands on that breviary, we're up shit creek without a paddle."

They sat in silence for a minute, still reeling from the events of the morning and now this. Finally Lana stood up. "I'll tell the guards to watch everyone leaving or entering the castle."

"Good call," Gillian agreed. "Clark and I will get this place cleaned up, see what else might be missing."

Lana departed, leaving Clark and Gillian to clean the room in silence. Lana tried to be optimistic, reminding herself of how fortunate it was that Eleanor discovered the incident so quickly. The thief couldn't have gone very far. The way this place was guarded, surely they wouldn't make it past the gate.

Still, she could not shake the nagging feeling that things were going to get worse before they got better.

Night fell over the woods surrounding Langdon. The woman entered the building nervously, clutching her bounty close to her chest. It was pitch-black, save for the one or two small torches that barely offered enough light to discern where she was going. What struck her most was the utter and total silence. It was so quiet, she could actually hear the crackling of torches and her own ragged breathing.

She heard his voice before she saw him, a hulking shadow in the flickering light. "Who goes there?"

"'Tis I, my lord."

"Ah, yes." His voice was low and rich, deceptively calm. "I assume you're here because you found something of import… that is why you're here, isn't it?"

A shiver raced down her spine, and she unconsciously took a step backward. "Methinks you'll be very interested in what I have, my lord."

"Really. Pray tell, let me see it."

She produced the object from under her cloak.

He took it, his expression subtly shifting as he peered at the sleek black leather and gleaming gold letters. He turned the book around in his hands, noticed the severed binding. His dark eyebrows shot up as he withdrew several pieces of parchment.

"My word… however did you find this?"

"I am very observant, my lord."

He gazed at her, his expression inscrutable. It usually was. "I'm sure you are. I see that I chose well."

She peered at him through lowered lashes, her nervousness tempered by the thrill that piercing gaze sent through her.

"I have some other news that may be of interest to you as well, my lord."

"Do tell."

She shared what she had learned that day, topping it off with the most scandalous tidbit of all. "About the lady and de Montclair… I saw them together. I fear the rumors are true, my lord. De Montclair has seduced your bride."

Something dark and dangerous sparked in his eyes. His grip tightened about his sword, so much that his knuckles turned white. Abruptly he drew the blade as slashed through the air, neatly severing the tallow candle that burned on the table beside him. His companion shrieked and danced aside as the flaming tip clattered to the floor in front of her.

A second later he sheathed his sword, his expression as calm and unruffled as though nothing had happened. "You have done well, dear. Come. I will reward you appropriately."

The sheer terror she had felt just a second before evolved into something else, a delicious and exciting sort of fear. It was why she kept doing this. Why she kept serving him. Of course, he had promised her adequate gold and riches, but this… _this_ was the ultimate thrill. Her heart skipped to an irregular tattoo as she followed him out of the room, dreams dancing through her head of a brighter and better future.

A brisk wind whipped through Langdon castle, bringing with it a bite that hadn't been there before. Lana stood out on the battlements, gazing out over the forest, trying to stave off the growing sense of dread regarding Blackwood's arrival.

She also was trying not to think about the fact that this very spot was where she and Clark had… been together.

Just then, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a tingling sense of awareness rode over her. She didn't have to turn around to know he was there, standing behind her.

"So you came out here to think, too," he remarked.

She nodded. "Just when I think I can't take any more drama… the plot thickens."

"I know what you mean."

She sucked in a breath, turned to face him. "Isolde saw it, Clark… she saw everything. She knows what's going to happen. That you—Kendrick—will die in my arms."

"Lana, I'm not doing to die," Clark insisted. "Trust me."

"How can you be so sure?" she countered. "You've cheated death so many times, in ways I still can't figure out. One of these days your luck has to run out."

"Is that what you think?" He moved toward her, his eyes reflecting warmth and compassion. "You need to stop worrying. We're going to be fine. We'll find some way to outsmart this supposed prophecy—provided there's anything at all to this."

"It's real," Lana said bluntly. "If you asked me a couple of weeks ago I'd have laughed, but I've seen too much now. We both have." She sighed, looking up at him, suddenly feeling that she was too far away from him even though she was standing right next to him. "I-I'm just so afraid to lose you…"

"Hey…." He pulled her in his arms, which as usual proved to be her undoing. It was as if a dam broke and all her feelings of fear, doubt, and confusion came spilling out. She had never felt so weak. Never been so grateful for his strength.

"You're not going to lose me, Lana," Clark vowed. "Not now. Not ever."

She pulled back just enough to glance up at him. "Really?"

"Really. It'll take more than a prophecy to get rid of me," he kidded. "We've cheated fate before… remember that phone call? You were supposed to die."

"But you saved me," she said. "I remember."

"So maybe now it's your turn to save me."

She smiled, but it was a weak smile, shadowed by the doubt she couldn't chase from her mind. "How could I save you?" she asked. "I'm not a warlock… or should I say a witch?"

"I don't know about th.at…" His eyes shone like green flames as he gazed down at her. "You've definitely cast some kind of spell on me."

She groaned. "Oh, God, Clark, that is _so_ cheesy…."

"Is it working?"

"Yes," she replied, and was promptly silenced as his lips descended upon hers. She sank into his arms, taking him in, letting him fill her senses and momentarily drive everything else away, all the confusion and fear and drama. The niggling fear that no matter how intense things seemed between them now, that somehow this wasn't really real, that she was going to wake up and their relationship would be as muddled and messed-up as it ever had been. Strangely enough, some things _were_ simpler here. At least, they were.

It was the one good thing about being stuck in this place.

Afterward, she rested her head on his shoulder, in that little crook that felt like it was made just for her. She breathed in the smell of him, that clean soapy scent that was uniquely his. It never failed to stir the most basic of reactions in her. If she could just bottle the Essence of Clark, she could market it as an aphrodisiac.

Or maybe it just worked for her.

"I wish there was something more we could do," she murmured. "I'm almost afraid to sleep tonight, wondering what sort of dream Lianne will send me."

"But that's a good thing," he pointed out. "Whatever she tells you could help us out."

"True. It's just… when I dream about her, it's always so intense. It kinda freaks me out," she admitted. "What about you? Haven't you experienced any of Kendrick's memories?"

He shook his head. "No… it's weird. I'm not getting anything from him. I think sometimes I sense the kind of person he was, what he would do if he were in my shoes. I notice I've been acting a little, um, bolder lately."

"Umm-hmmm." She smiled up at him. "But it's not like you haven't done that before."

He looked confused. "What do you mean…Ohhh…"

She nodded, grinning mischievously. "Like that time you came in the Talon wearing that black leather jacket… and you kissed me… whatever happened that jacket, anyway? I kinda dug it."

He looked a little embarrassed. "I don't know what possessed me to buy it. Temporary insanity?"

"Well, sometimes I wish you'd have temporary insanity again," she remarked, a little shocked by her own boldness. "Don't get me wrong, you could be a real jerk, but you were a sexy jerk."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Uh-huh… maybe when we get back home you could, you know, get out that jacket again?"

She could see his cheeks starting to flush, which amused her to no end. Dear Lord, he was cute when he was embarrassed. "It's not really my style."

"Come on… won't you wear it just for me?"

"I guess…." he finally relented. "As long as you don't ask me to sport a tunic and hose again we're cool."

"Deal." But the levity of the moment soon faded, thinking about how far they were from home. "Interesting, how you don't know anything about Kendrick. Yet at the same time it doesn't surprise me. He was such a mysterious figure… sweeping in long enough to steal the lady's heart and then disappearing. I wonder where he got his abilities from… do you think he might've been a warlock?"

"I think you and Gillian have been watching too many _Buffy_ reruns," Clark said dryly. "It's probably like the professor said… he's just some kind of prodigy, a great athlete. The stories are probably exaggerated."

"Maybe." Lana wasn't convinced, however. "But wouldn't it be so much more exciting if he really were special, like Isolde said you were?"

"Isolde could've meant all sorts of things by that."

"Yeah, I know." But she was reluctant to give up the idea. "You and he are really a lot alike, you know… two mysterious young men who perform death-defying feats on a regular basis."

"You forgot the tall, dark, and handsome part," Clark reminded her.

"Oh yeah, that, too." She grinned.

"You don't think it's odd I'm not experiencing any of Kendrick's memories?"

"Nah… maybe it just means you're so much alike, you don't need to."

"You're a lot like Lianne yourself, you know."

"How?" Lana wanted to know. "Lianne is so much braver and stronger than I could ever be."

Clark shook his head. "Not true. Lana, you're one of the bravest, strongest people I know."

"Really?" She regarded him doubtfully. "You're not just saying that?"

"No." His voice was low, husky. "I've always seen that about you. It's why I…"

"Why you what?" she whispered, her heart leaping somewhere around her throat as she leaned closer to him.

"Why… I'm so captured by you."

"Oh." She tried to conceal her disappointment that he hadn't said what she was so sure he'd been about to say. "Well, it seems you've done a bit of capturing yourself," she joked, smiling. "So, warlock, you wanna show me some more of those powers?"

"I thought you'd never ask." His eyes darkened as he leaned closer to her, and a hint of the ex plosive passion she'd seen the last time they'd been out here burned beneath his gaze. She shivered deliciously as lips met in a slow, deep kiss that quickly brought all rational thought to an end. It was almost enough to make her forget the unanswered questions, the fact that he'd once again sidestepped anything that resembled telling her what was really going on with him.

Almost.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

"_Lianne, you can't do this! 'Tis madness!" Lady Anne stood opposite her kinswoman, hands on her hips._

"_I must," Lianne said with conviction. "I've no choice. There's no one else I can trust."_

"_But to hazard the journey to Bedford on your own? Have you gone utterly daft?"_

"_Then what do you recommend I do?" Lianne demanded. _

_Lady Anne frowned, unable to think of an alternative._

"_Blackwood is up to no good, I am sure of it," Lianne claimed. "I would swear upon my last breath he is responsible for Father's death. I will see him avenged." Resolve flashed in her jade-green eyes. "Bedford is the only one who can help us now. His own son, my betrothed, died at the hands of that wretched whoreson. If anyone understands how I feel, 'tis him."_

"_Lianne, I don't claim to understand what you're going through, but surely there is a better way," Anne insisted. "The forest is riddled with brigands and God knows what else. You may know your way around a sword, but you are still just one woman."_

"_I could disguise myself as a boy," Lianne suggested._

"_And risk the consequences of being discovered? You know how they punish a woman for impersonating a man!"_

"_Then I guess the decision is out of my hands. I'm going, Anne, and that's final." But behind Lianne's fiery resolve lurked a deep sadness, a rising tide of despair. She was running out of time and running out of choices. What was left for her in England but taking the veil or becoming a burden upon the king? She could flee to France, but what for? Either way, she would lose everything she held dear._

_A vision of Kendrick de Montclair's handsome face flashed across her mind. Oh, the dreams of love and passion that lived in those intense, hypnotic eyes. He was everything she wanted and couldn't have. He said he could not stay. He was from a land far away, one she had never heard of and could never know. "Take me with you," Lianne had implored._

"_It cannot be done." The firmness in his voice belied the turmoil in his expression, which threatened to rend her heart in two. "If I return, it must be alone."_

"_But why?" she demanded. A thought streaked through her mind that struck dread into her heart. "You're promised to someone else, aren't you?"_

_His expression confirmed her suspicions. "I am sorry, Lianne… I never planned to fall in love with you."_

"_I know." She swallowed over the lump in her throat. "This love was doomed from the start, wasn't it?"_

_He nodded. "Aye… I guess it was."_

_For a moment, neither of them said anything. Lianne moved closer to him, wishing she could understand, wishing that they had enough time to unravel all the mysteries that lurked behind those smoky green eyes. Would she ever truly know Kendrick de Montclair? Or would he always be the dark, mysterious lover who swept into her life long enough to steal her heart before disappearing as quickly as he arrived?_

"_If I really were a warlock, I'd make it so I could stay here with you," Kendrick said. "But alas, I am merely a man of humble origins, with no land or title. You are the daughter of one of England's wealthiest nobles. I am bound to the man who is your father's sworn enemy."_

"_But your heart is bound to me," Lianne whispered._

"_Aye." His voice was barely audible. "It is… it always will be."_

_Memories of that day remained etched on her mind, hardening her resolve to get aid from Bedford. Blackwood took her father and her betrothed from her. She wouldn't let him take her pride, too._

"_Very well," Lady Anne said stiffly. "Then I'm going with you."_

_Lianne's head jerked up. "What?"_

"_You heard me. I'm coming with you, and that's all I have to say."_

_Lianne started to argue, but thought the better of it. When it came to a contest of wills, her kinswoman might well have been the only person who surpassed her. Besides, it _would_ be nice to have some company on the journey. "I guess arguing with you will accomplish nothing."_

"_You guessed right."_

_Lianne sighed. "I shall have the groom saddle up Treasure. He's a good mount. You'll like him."_

"_I'm sure." Anne set about the task of packing._

_Lianne made sure to keep a dagger under her belt, the jeweled one her father had given her before he'd gone to France. Tears stung her eyes as she remembered the goodbye she'd have never guessed would be forever._

Don't worry, Father,_ she vowed. _I will see your murder avenged. Blackwood will never triumph as long as I have breath in my body and the will to fight him.

_With that, she hastened off to join Anne._

The dream left Lana feeling even more unsettled than the others. So this was what happened just before she and Gillian assumed Lianne and Anne's identities. But more striking to her was Lianne's memory of Kendrick. It was so real, so vivid. So familiar.

Brushing away an image of Clark, Lana forced herself to concentrate on the facts. So Lianne had called upon her father's closest ally for help. But did Blackwood know? _Even if he didn't,_ she thought dispiritedly, _he will if he ever gets that breviary_.

After breakfast, Lana, Clark, and Gillian gathered to discuss Lana's latest vision. "Blackwood arrives today. Once we get rid of him, we'll see about contacting Bedford," Gillian decided. "If Blackwood does attempt an invasion, we'll need all the help we can get."

The thought made Lana shiver. She'd seen enough movies to know what kind of horrors happened during those sieges. "I sincerely hope it never comes to that."

"So do I, but we must be prepared for the worst."

"Do you have any idea where Bedford is?" Clark asked Gillian.

She shook her head. "No clue. I don't suppose Lianne sent you a memory of that?" she asked Lana.

"Nope," was Lana's reply. "Perhaps Isolde intends to guide us there."

"Then we'll see her after Blackwood leaves."

Later that morning found Lana standing on the battlements, gazing out at the forest as a party of travelers made their way over to the castle. The red-and-black heraldry alerted her that it was Blackwood and his men. She drew a deep shaky breath. _Courage,_ she told herself. She had to play the role of Lady Lianne to perfection today.

She walked down to the Great Hall to greet their visitors. All too soon, a squire escorted them inside.

Lana frowned at the sight of several men approaching. "Just Blackwood. None of his armed men."

"My lady, you wound me," Blackwood said, feigning hurt. "Do you not trust me?"

"About as far as I can throw you," she said coolly. "Come in alone, or begone from here."

"As you wish." He dismissed his men.

Lana stood next to Gillian, thankful for her presence. Perhaps some of Gillian's boldness might rub off on her. Meanwhile, Clark stood across the hall, keeping a close eye on Blackwood.

"I am sorry for leaving you, my lady," Blackwood began. "I trust Sir Kendrick treated you well."

"He has been nothing but civil, my lord."

"I'm sure." An unnerving glint flickered in Blackwood's eyes. "So you'll not mind when I take him back to Blackwood with me. He is, after all, is in my service."

Lana shrugged, feigning indifference. "Do what you want. He is a good man… 'tis a shame he must serve a scoundrel like you."

"Kendrick takes his chivalric vows very seriously."

"He does indeed," Lana said quietly, willing herself not to look at Clark. "But let us get to the point of your visit. If you are here to ask my hand again, you're wasting your time. I'll sooner marry the devil himself than you."

"My dear Lianne, how flip you are about your life and the lives or your subjects," Blackwood said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "I warn you. I'm left with no recourse but to take you and your kingdom by force."

"You will _try_ to take my kingdom by force," Lana corrected pointedly.

"Think you that you can stop me?" Blackwood appeared almost amused. "I have one of the most powerful armies this side of the English Channel--far more powerful than your own, my lady. I have Kendrick de Montclair. His first loyalty is to me, no matter what friendship may exist between you.."

Lana held her head high, vowing to hide the way she was trembling inside. "Keep talking, Blackwood, if it makes you feel better. I'll not change my mind."

"Then I fear you have sealed your own fate." He turned to Clark. "Kendrick, you're coming with me. Say your goodbyes to the lady. I'll be waiting outside." With a final ominous glance at Lana, he left.

Clark walked over to her, his face as pale as hers felt. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know," she murmured. She had forgotten that they would be separated again. How was she going to find strength without him? "We'll have to figure something out."

"I'll see what I can find out about Blackwood," he told her. "Don't worry, Lana… I won't let anything happen to you or to Gillian."

She trusted him. "I know."

He reached down, took her hands in both of his. There was no one else in the hall but Ralph and Gillian, and it did not matter if they knew. "Be strong," he said. "Don't be afraid. I will come back for you."

She swallowed, nodding. He lifted her hand, gently kissed her palm. "Until we meet again, my lady."

Her breath issued forth in a shaky sigh. "Fare thee well, Sir Kendrick."

The moment his eyes held hers seemed suspended in time, an eternity pushed into a second or two. Then he turned around and left the hall with Ralph in tow.

Lana felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. What was she going to do without him? How did he think he was going to save her? It was going to take a miracle to pull this one off.

She only hoped that God had a few extra to spare.

Blackwood Castle was just as it was the last time Clark had been there--dirty, smelly, and noisy. The place was badly in need of a lady, that was for sure. But no way in the world would that lady be Lana.

He managed to choke down his supper and fled the Great Hall as quickly as he could. Now that he was here, he might as well try to do something useful. If Blackwood indeed had the breviary, now was his chance to get it back.

He left his room and crept down the hall toward Blackwood's treasury. He cursed under his breath when he saw the torchlight shining through the crack beneath the door. Dimly, he heard voices. Ducking in the shadows, he used his amplified hearing to make out the conversation.

"We attack within the sennight," Blackwood was saying. "We go by night, when it will be easier to find cover in the darkness. Have you ordered my men to begin assembling the catapults and siege towers?"

"Aye, my lord. All should be ready within three days." Clark recognized that voice. Sir Hugh.

"Excellent. On the fourth day we march for Langdon. I have some inside knowledge of the castle. We'll talk strategy on the morrow."

"Very well. But what are we going to do about de Montclair? Think you we can trust him?"

"Does it matter?" Blackwood responded. "He might try to defend his lady love, but what can one man do against an army?"

"Clearly you haven't heard the stories of his prowess in battle."

"I have. But every man has a weakness. 'Tis only a matter of finding his."

"Methinks I know what it is… a certain raven-haired beauty," Hugh conjectured. "I still know not why you left him with her. Are you mad?"

Blackwood merely laughed. "Hugh, trust that I know what I am doing. One of your limited capacity should not try to understand what goes on inside my mind."

"Aye, my lord," Hugh agreed, apparently not picking up on Blackwood's insult. "But I still wouldn't trust him if I were you."

"Who says I do?"

Just then, the door opened. Clark held his breath as the two men left the room, breathing a sigh of relief when they walked the other way. Once they were gone, he slipped into the treasury to try to find that breviary. It wasn't until he searched it twice, using is X-ray vision, that he reluctantly acknowledged that Blackwood must've hidden it somewhere else.

The next logical place to search would be Blackwood's chamber, but he was probably on his way there now. It wasn't a good time. Perhaps on the morrow, when Blackwood was out.

Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He had to warn Lana and Gillian. Thank God for his abilities. Hopefully, he could make it to Langdon and back before Blackwood realized he was gone.

Lana sat in the solar of Langdon keep, trying very hard to concentrate on her embroidery. But she kept seeing Clark's face, wondering what he was doing now. Wondering when she'd have the chance to see him again.

"Damn it!" she cursed, sucking on her finger after pricking it for the third time. This was useless. Sighing, she tossed the embroidery aside.

"Thinking about Clark?" Gillian asked, only briefly glancing up from her work.

"How can you be so calm at a time like this?" Lana wanted to know.

"Because I'll only waste energy by freaking out," Gillian answered logically. "Lana, you have to relax. He's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"I know." _But who's going to take care of me?_

"At least we found a map to Bedford in Henry's treasury," Gillian reminded her.

"A lot of good that does us, without Clark," Lana muttered. "What are we supposed to do now? How are we supposed to contact him?"

"Pretty easily, considering he's standing right there." Gillian nodded toward the door of the solar.

Lana jumped up, scarcely believing her eyes. Then she was flying toward him, swept up in his strong arms. "Clark! What… how?"

"I sneaked out of Blackwood Castle," he answered, pulling back enough that he could look at her. "I had to warn you. I overheard Blackwood talking to his lackey, Sir Hugh. They're going to attack in four days."

Lana went pale. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. They're assembling siege machines as we speak. He has a huge army, Lana… I don't know what we're going to do against him."

"We'll do what we must," Gillian said. "We fight."

"But how?" Lana wanted to know. "Clark said Blackwood's army is superior. Isolde said he'll attack… and he'll succeed."

"We're changing history, remember?" Gillian pointed out. "We already have an edge, knowing about that secret passage. If worse comes to worst, we'll escape and flee to Bedford. I found a map," she informed Clark.

"That's great, Gillian. We'll have to study it later."

"Can't we summon Bedford for help?" Lana wanted to know.

Gillian shook her head. "No time. Besides, this is our fight. We owe it to Lianne and Kendrick—and ourselves—to make a stand against Blackwood."

"That's easy to say, but I don't want to die here!" Lana exclaimed.

"You think I do?" Gillian retorted. "But it's clear we're not going back home anytime soon, so we have to do what we can to stay alive."

"Gillian's right," Clark agreed. "Which reminds me, I'd better get back to Blackwood before he notices I'm gone."

"What?" Lana turned to Clark with round eyes. "You can't go back there!"

"I have to," Clark said, reluctantly. "Blackwood's beginning to suspect me. I can't afford to get on his bad side. Besides, if he does have the breviary, maybe I can get it back. I might also be able to find out more about his plan. He claims to have inside knowledge of the castle, probably provided by his spy."

Lana shook her head firmly. "It's too dangerous."

"You think it's any less dangerous to stay here?" he countered. "By betraying Blackwood, I not only put myself in danger but you as well. I can't do that."

"But I need you here," Lana insisted. "I can't be strong without you."

"Yes, you can. I know you have it in you." He reached up, cupped her face in his hand. "You can do it, Lana… for Lianne. For me."

She nodded, wishing she could believe in herself as much as he seemed to believe in her. "Take care of yourself, Clark. Don't do anything stupid, like get yourself killed, OK?"

"Promise." His lips turned up in a little smile, and for a moment she was sure he was going to kiss her. Then they both realized that Gillian was standing right there watching them.

"Oh, just kiss the girl already," she told Clark, a hint of a smirk across her face. "It's not like I was born yesterday."

So he did. It was a deep, stirring kiss that literally took Lana's breath away, left her clinging to his shoulders for fear her knees would give out. They stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, their foreheads touching and eyes closed. And then he was gone, striding down the hall on his way out of the keep.

Lana watched after him, her legs still feeling vaguely like jelly. Gillian walked up to her with a grin. "I guess saving your life is the ultimate aphrodisiac."

Lana turned to her with question marks in her eyes. "How long have you known about us?"

"Oh, please. Give me some credit." Gillian's eyes twinkled. "It was only a matter of time before you hooked up again."

Lana averted her eyes, her cheeks flushed. "It's scary, Gillian… what if it isn't real? What if we're just turning to each other because we're stuck in a strange place and don't know when or if we'll ever got home again?"

"Lana, not that I'm an expert or anything, but one thing I've found out about love is that if you think about it too much, you can talk yourself out of anything." She regarded her sympathetically. "Maybe you should stop thinking… and just start feeling."

_But that's what scares me,_ she wanted to say. If she let him in, he could break her heart all over again.

She didn't know if she could handle it this time around.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

Clark raced through the gates of Blackwood Castle, stopping in the inner bailey to catch his breath. The guard at the gatehouse was still fast asleep. He had to say he wasn't too impressed with the security around here.

"Sir Kendrick, whatever brings you out here in the middle of the night?"

_Shit. _He turned in the direction of the voice, discerning the figure of Lothar emerging from the shadows. "Uhh, nothing, my lord. Just out for a walk."

Blackwood arched a heavy brow. "I did not know you were in the habit of late-night walks."

"I might say the same about you."

"Have you seen the gardens by night?" Blackwood replied, his expression almost beatific. "They are quite lovely. The way the moonlight bounces off the jasmine blossoms… Lianne would love them."

Clark stiffened. "The lady is determined to escape you."

"So she thinks. But she is a prize worth fighting for, Kendrick. You probably know that, from the time you spent with her."

"She is a rare beauty," he agreed carefully.

"Then perhaps you know why it was so important to keep her protected. I could think of no one better suited for the job than you."

Jeez, would the man ever shut up? "I am happy to serve you, my lord."

"You actually take the chivalric code seriously. I always liked that about you," Blackwood went on. "I know I can count on your loyalty… can't I, Kendrick?"

Blackwood's gaze was making him increasingly uncomfortable. But Clark kept his cool, saying simply, "Aye, my lord."

Blackwood nodded and retreated back into the shadows. Clark breathed a sigh of relief. _That was a close one,_ he thought, and fled into the keep.

At Langdon, the days leading up to the battle passed by in a blur. Catapults were constructed, weapons gathered, strategy discussed. The day of the battle found Lana standing on the battlements with Gillian, watching the orange-red glow of torchlight as Blackwood's forces moved closer. Men were stationed all along the ramparts, ready to defend their castle with bows, arrows, catapults, and vats of boiling oil.

Presently Gillian arrived with a couple of knights, who were hauling a barrow up to the battlements. "Check this out," she said with a grin. "We found Greek Fire!"

"Greek Fire?" Lana echoed.

"Yeah. This stuff is the shit," Gillian said excitedly. "One spark and _boom!_ Water can't put out the flames. It was the secret weapon of the Byzantines. To this day no one has figured out exactly how to make it."

Lana shuddered. "It sounds horrible."

"I'll put it this way: I wouldn't want to be the poor bastards on the other side."

Lana threw a worried glance at Blackwood's approaching army. Clark had not returned. _He's marching in with them,_ she thought, shivering in the cool night air. What happened once the battle started? What if he was hurt or worse yet, killed—by her own men?

Whatever had possessed him to play both sides? Lana swore that sometimes the guy had more guts than brains.

_But he's always come through for me,_ she reminded herself. She prayed that the streak would hold up one more time.

Clark rode next to Blackwood. Ahead of them, Langdon Castle loomed like a giant stone sentry, aglow with the light of thousands of torches. Even from here, it was easy to see that hundreds of men lined the battlements, armed with bows, arrows, spears, and catapults.

Blackwood gaped. "How did they know?" he demanded.

"Well, it's not like they can't see us coming," Clark pointed out.

"Think you they can prepare themselves that quickly?" Blackwood's eyes flashed with an almost maniacal glow. "Someone must've told them!"

"You did threaten to attack," Clark reminded him. "It stands to reason they'd be ready for you."

Blackwood seethed for a moment, gripping the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway," he finally said. "Our forces are superior to theirs. We'll make short work of them."

Clark did not reply. In the days he'd been at Blackwood, he had accomplished neither of his goals. Blackwood was frustratingly close-mouthed about strategy, which didn't surprise him since he knew the man didn't fully trust him. Furthermore, despite his searches Clark still hadn't located the breviary. Blackwood must've kept it on his person constantly. Clark hadn't even found out who the spy was. Talk about his mission being a dismal failure.

To top it off, he was forced to march into battle against the woman he loved.

_Dear God, don't let anything happen to her,_ he prayed. There had to be some way he could help her. If it meant sacrificing his own life, so be it.

He would protect her until his very last breath.

So it began.

Lana and Gillian stood on the battlements, gripping each other's hands as a hail of arrows flew at the outer wall. Langdon's men swiftly retaliated. The captain of the guard marched along the rampart, barking orders. "First rank, fire! Second rank, fire! First, reload. Third rank, fire! Second, reload. First rank, fire!"

The constant barrage of arrows took its toll as several of Blackwood's men fell. But they recovered quickly, sending a volley of arrows flying up at the ramparts and felling several of Langdon's men.

Lana was beginning to feel sick. And this was only the beginning.

_God, where is Clark?_ she thought frantically, scanning the enemy ranks. She finally located Blackwood, standing well behind the front lines, with a tall, dark knight at his side. Clark.

"Fire the catapults!" a male voice shouted. Moments later, several boulders bombarded the enemy ranks, sending men scattering. Langdon's men cheered as one boulder took down an enemy catapult.

But Blackwood had more tricks up his sleeve. His men were so numerous, his losses thus far were not crippling. Lana watched in horror as his front rank was illuminated with the glow of a thousand flaming arrows. A moment later, the deadly missiles cascaded like a rain of fire upon the ramparts.

"So he wants to play with fire, eh?" Gillian muttered. "We'll give him some fire!"

Langdon's depleted forces were already preparing their newest weapon. Jars of Greek Fire were loaded into what looked like huge crossbows, which were promptly fired over the wall.

Chaos broke out among the enemy ranks. A catapult ignited in an explosion of flames, throwing the knights manning it several feet. More fires erupted all around. Blackwood's horse whinnied and bucked as flames roared directly in front of it, somewhere in the innermost ranks. Clark had disappeared behind a wall of fire.

Lana gripped Gillian's hand, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. _"Clark!"_ she screamed.

Clark fought to gain control over his mount, whose eyes rolled wildly back in his head as he skittered away from the flames. _Jesus Christ,_ he thought. _What the hell are they throwing at us?_

"'Tis Greek Fire, my lord!" one of the knights shouted at Blackwood, panicked.

_Oh, shit._ He'd seen enough medieval movies to know what Greek Fire was. If Langdon had it, they were in for it.

It was then he heard it. He wasn't sure how he managed to, being so far away from the castle and with so much noise around him, but the sound carried as clearly as a bell. Lana screaming his name.

He scanned the battlements, trying to locate her. He eventually made out two figures standing atop one of the inner walls—Lana and Gillian.

"Fire the catapults!" Blackwood bellowed.

Langdon was soon hit hard by a barrage of missiles, one of which took down a section of the parapet. Men screamed and pitched into the moat. The assault discombobulated Langdon's forces long enough to allow the window of opportunity that Blackwood needed. His men wheeled a huge siege tower up to the moat, men standing at its top ready to scale the bridge and leap over the castle wall.

But Langdon's forces would not be vanquished so easily. They launched a volley of flaming arrows at the siege tower, taking down several men. The bridge of the tower caught fire, the remaining men trying frantically to snuff out the flames. But the more they tried, the higher the flames seemed to rise.

"Fire the catapults! Ignite the missiles!" Blackwood screamed.

Within minutes several flaming missiles rained down upon the castle. Sections of the parapet crumbled while interior buildings burst into flame, but Clark could only stare transfixed as a flaming missile smashed directly into one of the towers.

Right behind the wall where Lana and Gillian were standing.

_Oh, God, Lana!_ In that instant, it became crystal-clear to him what he had to do. He spurred his mount into action, racing along the moat toward the siege tower.

"Kendrick! Where are you going?" Blackwood demanded.

Clark didn't answer.

"If you desert me now, you become my enemy!" Blackwood warned.

Clark just raced on. He didn't care anymore. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if Lana or Gillian was harmed because of his ill-fated attempt to play hero.

Upon reaching the siege tower, he dismounted and sprinted for the ladder. He scaled it easily, shoving enemy knights out of his way as he did so. They scattered like rolling pins. The bridge was consumed in flames by now, but it didn't intimidate him. Briefly he wondered if he could make the jump in this cumbersome chain mail, but there was no time to worry about that. Steeling himself, he took a running start through the flames and jumped.

He landed on the parapet, scrambling to his feet in time to see two of Langdon's knights advancing toward him.

He held up his hands. "Don't attack! I'm on your side!"

The knights looked unconvinced. "I don't have time for this," Clark muttered, and proceeded to knock them aside like a couple of rag dolls. Then he raced along the wall, flames roaring behind him and acrid smoke filling his lungs, searching frantically for Lana. _She can't be dead,_ he thought. _Please, God, don't let her be dead!_

_Oh, jeez, what hit me?_ Lana thought, rubbing her throbbing head. Opening her eyes, she found herself surrounded by a wall of rubble. Then it all came back… the flaming missile flying straight at them… her and Gillian leaping frantically aside… then darkness.

"Gillian!" Lana shouted, and immediately regretted it. Shouting hurt her head. Slowly she dragged herself to a sitting position. She heard the crackle of flames, felt the searing air closing around her like a suffocating blanket. She glanced around, relief flooding her when she spotted a large opening in the rubble. She crawled through gratefully.

The scene that greeted her was like something straight out of the apocalypse. Men raced along the flaming wall, shouting and screaming, while dozens lay dead or wounded. Lana took a step and stumbled. She glanced down realized she'd tripped over a man's arm.

There was no sign of the rest of him.

The bile rose in her stomach as she staggered away, willing her supper to stay down. Through it all, she didn't notice the arrow flying straight toward her.

It wasn't long before Clark made out a small figure limping away from a pile of rubble. "Lana!" he shouted.

She looked up just in time to glimpse an arrow whistling through the air toward her. There was no time to think. Clark raced over to her, shoving her out of the way as the arrow glanced harmlessly off his back. Shocked, dazed, it took a moment before Lana realized what had just happened.

"Clark!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. "I don't know how you got here, but you saved my life… again!"

"Lana, thank God you're OK," he said, wrapping her tightly in his arms. But there wasn't time for a happy reunion. He pulled away quickly, grabbing her hand and whisking her away from the wall.

Lana's face went pale. "Gillian…"

"You can relax, folks, I'm all right." Gillian materialized out of the smoke, limping slightly but otherwise fine. "Clark! What are you doing here, and why am I not surprised?"

"I deserted," Clark said simply. "Come on… we've got to get out of here."

They hastened through the battle-torn castle while fighting and destruction raged all around them. There was no denying it. Langdon would fall. They could only hope to escape with their lives.

"The secret passage," Gillian said, and the three of them raced across the inner bailey.

Meanwhile, another siege tower had successfully been wheeled up to the wall, and Blackwood's forces were flooding across the bridge. Upon reaching the outer bailey, Clark, Lana, and Gillian skidded to a halt at the sight of several enemy knights pouring in from the far end of the castle.

Where the entrance to the secret passage was.

"Oh, God," Clark murmured, his face chalk-white. "So that was the inside information Blackwood meant… his spy found the passage!"

"_Shit!_" Gillian moaned. "Now what do we do?"

"Front gate," Clark said, and they promptly raced for the drawbridge.

By now, one of Blackwood's men had made his way to the gatehouse and was in the process of lowering the drawbridge. More knights poured in, hacking and slashing mercilessly at any opposition.

There was no option left. Clark drew his sword. "I'll hold them off. You two, run. If we get separated, we'll meet up at Bedford. You know the way, don't you?"

Gillian nodded. "Lana and I are each carrying copies of that map."

"Good. Now go. I'll take care of them."

"And I'll help!" a new voice piped up. Ralph had arrived, bearing a grin and a sword.

"What are you doing here?" Clark demanded.

"My first loyalty is to you," said Ralph seriously. "I'm fighting on your side!"

"No, you're not. You're running across the bridge with Gillian and Lana. Go!"

"I don't think so." This time it was Lana who spoke. "I'm not leaving your side, Clark. I'll not let you die for me!"

"So you're going to die, too?" Clark countered. "Where's the sense in that?"

"Don't try to argue with me, Kent. I'm staying with you and that's final." Resolve burned in Lana's eyes.

"Well, someone better make a decision fast, because they're closing in on us," Gillian jumped in.

Clark could see that he would get nowhere with Lana. Damn. She was brave, but she couldn't hold her own against trained knights. What could he do now?

His eye fell upon a barrel of grayish powder sitting at foot of the steps leading up the rampart. An idea streaked into his mind, which he immediately put into action.

"Ralph, Gillian, go. We'll catch up," he ordered. One look at his expression and Gillian knew better than to argue. She grabbed Ralph and hightailed it toward the bridge.

Once he was sure their backs were turned, Clark used his powers to ignite the barrel of Greek Fire. He pushed Lana aside as the barrel exploded, flames shooting into the air with a boom so deafening Clark felt it down to his very bones. The blast knocked him and Lana several feet, the two of them landing with a bone-shattering jolt on the stone floor of the bailey.

The shouts and agonized screams of men continued long after the smoke cleared and the dust settled. Clark looked up, blinking smoke out of his eyes, to see that Gillian and Ralph had made it across the drawbridge. Meanwhile, Lana lay on the ground next to him, coughing.

"Lana, are you hurt?" he asked right away.

She sat up slowly. "I'll be fine. Come on, let's get out of here!"

He helped her to her feet. Enemy knights were closing in on them from both sides. There was nowhere to go but up. Grabbing Lana's hand, he led her to the stairs leading up to the rampart.

They took them two at a time, Blackwood's men in close pursuit. They made it up to the top and raced headlong across the allure, skidding to a stop as yet more of Blackwood's men leapt onto the wall from a siege tower.

Metal clashed against metal as Clark fought off the first attacker. Meanwhile, one of their pursuers caught up with them and was advancing toward Lana. Her blade flashed through the air as she deflected his blow and attacked, catching his leg at a seam in his mail. Yelping with pain, the knight lunged at her with murder in his eyes. "You'll pay for that, wench!"

She parried and ducked, shrieking as her opponent's blade slashed across her side. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she rose to her feet in time to block one more blow. The force of it knocked her backwards into Clark, who had already dispensed with his opponent. They watched with growing panic as knights closed in on them. They were surrounded!

"What do we do now, Clark?" Lana asked, her courage rapidly deserting her.

"Only one thing we can do," he said grimly. "Jump."

She looked at him in disbelief, but it soon dawned on her that it was the only choice they had. She nodded, allowing him to help her up onto the parapet.

He scrambled up after her. She squeezed her eyes shut, steeling herself as they clasped hands. The enemy knights could only watch dumbfounded as they leapt from the rampart, plunging headlong toward the dark surface of the moat.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Clark hit the water with an impact that forced the air from his lungs and nearly knocked the wind out of him. The moat was freezing, tepid water soaking through all his layers of clothing and chilling him to the bone. He sank rapidly, weighed down by the heavy, cumbersome mail. He hastily wiggled out his hauberk and clawed his way to the surface.

The cold night air instantly turned the drops of water on his hair and face to ice, but he was grateful for the fresh air. "Lana?" he called. No answer. The surface of the moat remained as calm and undisturbed as though nothing had happened.

_Shit._ He dove back beneath the water, peering through its murky depths for any sign of life. His fingers tangled in something that he soon realized was Lana's hair. Grabbing her, he hauled her to the surface, swimming toward the other side of the moat as fast as he could.

He was heedless of the freezing air against his soaked skin as he laid her gently on the grassy bank. Her face was pale, her lips blue. Damn it. He tried to recall everything he knew about CPR as he covered her mouth with his. A few moments later found her coughing, sputtering, and spitting out moat water. A surge of relief coursed through him as he helped her to a sitting position. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, the color slowly returning to her face. "The impact must've knocked me out cold."

He hugged her tightly. "Oh, God, Lana… I thought I lost you for a minute."

She gave a gentle smile. "No, you didn't… I'm right here, Clark."

He returned her smile, but the shouts of approaching men quickly broke the moment. "Come on… we'd better get out of here. You think you can walk?"

She nodded. He helped her to her feet, and the two of them hastened into the shelter of the woods. They hid behind a cluster of bushes, scarcely daring breathe as a group of knights gathered at the spot where they'd been standing moments before.

"Do you see them anywhere?" one asked.

Another shook his head. "Think you they could survive that fall? They'll drown for sure."

"I don't know… Kendrick seems to have nine lives."

"Mayhap he really is a warlock," a third knight jumped in.

"Alfred, you ponce, don't tell me you really believe in that nonsense."

"Who're you callin' a ponce, twit?"

Clark and Lana slipped away while the men argued amongst themselves. As they crept along the forest floor, they were relieved to hear the voices fading into the distance.

"Looks like we got away," Lana whispered.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that, gel," a voice behind her growled. Lana froze, petrified by the sharp object poking into her back. "One move, and the lady gets it," her attacker warned.

The next thing she knew, her assailant was sprawled out on his back several feet away and Clark was standing over him. He snatched up the fallen man's sword just in time to fend off an attack from another knight.

_What the hell? How did he get here so fast?_ Lana thought dazedly, watching as the two men fought. Clark wasn't as skilled as his opponent, but he held his own, compensating for what he lacked in skill by brute strength. Dang, what did they feed him on that farm? "Clark, behind you!" Lana shrieked as another knight materialized out of the shadows. Clark whirled around in time to block the blow, spending the next few moments aptly fighting off two men. Lana was in awe. He was incredible!

It was then that she noticed a third knight, skulking in the shadows, holding a crossbow and taking aim. Clark had his hands full, so it was up to her to save him. _Oh, God, I hope I'm doing this right,_ she thought, snatching up the dagger tucked into the fallen man's belt. She hurled it at her target, just as Gillian had taught her.

It found its mark in his chest.

At that moment, Clark finished dispatching both knights. He looked from his fallen attacker to Lana, who stood pale-faced and shaking.

"I just killed that man," she mumbled, her stomach lurching.

"If you hadn't killed him, he'd have killed you… or me," Clark pointed out.

She looked at him with round eyes. "I don't think I can survive in this place..."

"Shhh, it's OK." He gathered her in his arms, comforting her. Gradually her breathing slowed, and the nausea subsided as he ran his hand in slow circles over her back.

"Come," he said, leading her away from the scene. As they passed the sniper's body, Clark suddenly doubled over, holding his hand to his forehead.

"Clark, are you all right?" Lana asked, alarmed.

He nodded. "Just a headache."

"We need to get out of here, find a safe place where we can rest."

She let him lean on her as they left the scene, both of them failing to notice the brilliant green point of the arrow loaded in the crossbow.

"Hey, lucky us. They left us some horses," Clark observed a few moments later. He and Lana helped themselves to two of the slain knights' mounts and rode off into the forest. Lana was grateful that she no longer had to move on foot. Her side was killing her, and she winced as she swung herself onto the saddle.

It wasn't until a good half-hour later that they finally let down their guard. They heard nothing but the usual nighttime sounds of the forest, and were fairly confident that they'd lost their pursuers. Of course, they also had no idea where they were, but right now they were merely grateful to be alive and in one piece.

They soon stumbled upon an old shack, long since abandoned. "We can take shelter here," Clark suggested. They dismounted and made their way to the building. It was barely more than a lean-to, but it provided some cover and protection from the elements.

"Lana, you're hurt," Clark said with concern, noticing the dark crimson stain on her bodice. "Let me take a look at that."

Lana had been so caught up in staying alive, she'd forgotten about the pain. Clark reached for the lacing on the back of her bodice. "Uhh… if you don't mind, I think I'm going to have to…"

"It's OK." _You've seen me in less,_ she thought, her cheeks reddening at the memory.

Ever so gently, Clark eased the bodice off her shoulders. His fingers lightly grazed her skin and ignited a rash of tingles in their wake. She held up her chemise to cover her breasts as he examined the wound. "It's not very deep, thank God," he said. "But I'm worried. You've lost a lot of blood."

She did feel a little lightheaded, but whether it was from blood loss or the fact that she was half-undressed in front of him, she didn't know. "Will I be all right?"

"I think so." He tore a strip of fabric from his linen undershirt and used it as a makeshift tourniquet. "Is that better?"

"A little." He looked away awkwardly as she pulled up her bodice and chemise.

"We'll rest here for the night, and in the morning, we'll figure out how to get to Bedford," he suggested.

She nodded, sinking down next to him on the dank, earthen floor. His arms slid around her and she sank into them gratefully, resting her head on his shoulder. Exhaustion took hold of her like a leaden weight. But before she drifted off, she had to know something. "Clark… on the battlements, when you saved me… didn't that arrow hit you?"

"It might have," he said vaguely. "But I was wearing chain mail."

"Oh." Still, there was still something about his explanation that wasn't quite right. But she was too sleepy to pursue the subject. She drifted off wrapped in Clark's arms, the warmth of his body and the rhythm of his breathing lulling her into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Sunlight slanted through the window of the shack when Clark awoke. Lana was still asleep, curled up contentedly against him like a cat. He realized it was the first time he'd fallen asleep with her and woken up next to her. It was a feeling he could get used to.

Brushing her hair aside, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered and she peered up at him with a small smile. "'Morning."

He smiled back. "Morning."

"Looks like we're still alive."

"Amazingly enough."

She yawned, stretching. "Ugh, my back hurts like a bitch."

"Join the club." Actually his back didn't hurt at all, but he was sure it would if he were human. "You sleep OK?"

"Yeah, did you?"

He nodded. "It's a good thing, because we've got a long day ahead of us. We'd better figure out where we are and how to get to Bedford."

"Yeah… I hope Gillian and Ralph are OK," Lana said with concern.

"Me, too."

A few moments later they emerged from the shack, concluding from the position of the sun that it was probably late morning. They consulted the map and figured that they had wandered somewhere north of Langdon, in the general direction of Bedford.

They set out. At noon, they stopped briefly to drink from a small stream, which helped for their thirst but did nothing to soothe their growling stomachs. Clark figured neither of them had been away from civilization this long without any supplies or anything. He wondered how Lana was holding out, especially with her wound. He inquired about her often, but she always gave him a reassuring smile and said, "Clark, I'm fine."

They rode well into the afternoon, stopping when they found a lush clearing and a large stream. "Oh, thank God," Lana commented. "A bath!"

"My sentiments exactly," Clark agreed. They dismounted and stood at the side of the stream, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I'll turn around while you go in," Clark suggested. "Then you turn around while I go in."

"Deal," Lana agreed. He turned his back, waited several seconds before she spoke again. "Uhh, Clark?"

"I'm not peeking!" he said quickly.

"That's not what I meant." She sounded embarrassed. "I, um, need you to unlace."

"Oh." Red-faced, he approached her and nervously unfastened the laces on the back of her bodice. "Done."

He turned around again. A fly buzzed in his face, and he swatted it away impatiently. While he did so, his head turned to the side a little, and he caught sight of Lana out of the corner of his eye.

_Oh, God._ He knew he shouldn't look, but he just couldn't help himself. His eyes were riveted to her as she eased the bodice and chemise from her shoulders, sliding it down past her slender waist and over the graceful curve of her hips. The fabric skimmed her round, firm bottom and whispered over her shapely legs before falling in a pool at her feet.

He whirled around quickly, heart hammering. Jeez, what the hell was wrong with him? He didn't even have the self-control to keep from sneaking a peek while bathing in a stream?

"OK, your turn!" Lana called a few moments later, submerged past her chest in the stream.

Clark disrobed hastily and slipped into the safety of the water, still shaken up over what he'd seen. The water was cool, which was fortunate considering he was very much in need of a cold shower. He tried to act natural as he went about the business of washing. Neither of them looked at each other or spoke. They went through the same procedure upon leaving the stream as entering it, but this time Clark kept his eyes well away from Lana.

Once they were dressed and on their way again, they came upon a small house. "Hello?" Clark called as they approached. "Anyone home?"

There was no response. A closer inspection confirmed that the house was uninhabited, and would be as good a place as any to spend the night.

"We should reach Bedford tomorrow evening if we make good time," Lana said, consulting the map.

"Cool." Clark preceded her into the house. It was barely more than a hut, just one room with a makeshift hearth. There was no furniture. Looked like he and Lana would be huddling together for warmth again tonight. The very thought made his body tighten and hum with what would undoubtedly be unfulfilled anticipation.

_Man, we need to get to civilization soon, _he thought. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

Night fell over the hut, which kept them surprisingly warm and dry. Lana found a bucket and went to the stream to fetch some water. When she returned, she found a fire crackling in the hearth. "How did you do that?" she asked. "I didn't find any flint or tinder in here."

Clark shrugged. "I guess I got something out of Boy Scouts."

"You were a Boy Scout?" She grinned, trying to picture him in his little uniform.

"For about five minutes. Weren't you a Girl Scout?"

"For about five minutes."

He laughed, turning back to the fire. Some of the tension from this afternoon seemed to have dissipated. There had been some awkwardness at the stream, for more than the obvious reasons. The truth was she'd done something she wasn't too proud of.

It wasn't like she'd _intended_ to peek. She'd just lost her footing in the stream, stumbled, and as she straightened up just happened to catch a glimpse of him. He had already shed his shirt and stood with his back to her. Her eyes eagerly drank in the spectacle, all smooth skin and lean muscle. She watched as he unfastened his hose, then the leather belt that held up his braies. She wasn't quite ready for what she saw when he dropped those. Dear God, the man was beautiful! She took in his muscular, sculpted legs and a firm behind that no amount of clingy hose could do justice to…

Fortunately, she'd turned around before he caught her. Even now her face burned at the memory. What was wrong with her? She couldn't even bathe in a stream without sneaking a peek?

"Another night sleeping on the cold, hard ground," Clark commented, drawing Lana's thoughts back to the present.

She joined him in front of the fire. "I know… but you have me to keep you warm."

"True." His arm slid around her, pulling her against him. Lightly he traced his fingers over her bandaged side. "Has it been bothering you?"

"Not too much."

"I'm glad." He sighed, stirring the loose strands of hair on her shoulder. "I should've protected you better."

"You saved my life. Isn't that good enough?"

"What can I say? I'm a perfectionist."

She smiled, turning to gaze up at the familiar planes of his face. If possible, he looked even more beautiful in the firelight. "Why don't you kiss it and make it better?"

Obligingly, he bent and brushed his lips across her bandage in the sweetest, most tender gesture she'd ever seen. But he didn't stop there. He moved higher, kissing her neck, her throat, the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck. She gave a soft sigh, letting her head fall to the side as she surrendered to his ministrations. Then his lips found hers in a soft, achingly sweet kiss, which soon deepened and sizzled with latent, stirring passion.

He pulled her on top of him, kissing her deeply, his hands skimming the curves of her body and burning her skin through her gown and chemise. She straddled him, running her hands over his broad chest, frustrated by the fabric that separated them. Their tongues met and tangled in an erotic dance. She felt the bulge in his tights pressing the vee between her thighs, and nearly gasped with the intensity of the sensation. Dear God, she didn't want to stop. She wanted to touch, to feel, to be as close to him as she could. She wanted to lose herself in him, to lose the fear and pain and horror of the day in the bliss that was rapidly taking over.

"Clark," Lana whispered, her breath caressing his neck. "I want to be with you tonight."

"You are," he whispered back.

"No… I mean _be_ with you." She swallowed nervously. "I want you to make love to me."

He looked startled. "Wh-what?"

"I know you want me." She kissed his neck, delighted with the shudder she felt move through him. "We almost did it twice… after the homecoming dance… on the battlements… I'm ready this time. I know it."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "You want it to happen like this… with me?"

"With no one else but you." She began unlacing his tunic, dropping a kiss on every inch of newly exposed skin. "Don't you want me?"

"Oh, God… you have no idea how much."

"Then I'm yours." She pulled back the neckline of her bodice, revealing Isolde's charm gleaming against her fevered skin.

She saw his Adam's apple bob and knew the last of his restraint was slipping away. She seized the opportunity and kissed him, sliding her tongue into the warm cavern of his mouth while grinding her body sweetly against him. She was filled with a delicious, tingling excitement, a yearning beyond anything she'd felt before. She couldn't wait to give in to it. Couldn't wait to re-ignite the passion they'd felt on the battlements and see how far it would take them.

She saw the hunger in his eyes as his mind lost the battle with his body. He hauled her against him, captured her mouth in a rough, taking kiss that robbed her completely of her breath and her senses. She'd never seen him this way before! But she loved it. She responded in earnest, arching against him, her breasts pressing wantonly against his broad chest while her fingers buried themselves in his silky dark hair. She heard the low rumble in his throat and felt a tug as he undid the lacing on her bodice. They scrambled to a sitting position, where he stripped off his tunic and undershirt before getting to work on her bodice. He accomplished the task remarkably quickly, bending to drop several kisses on her neck and shoulders that burned like little flames as he slowly eased the fabric away.

A soft sigh issued from Lana's lips as Clark's hands moved sensuously across her skin, over her arms, her hands, her stomach. He paused upon reaching her wound, skirting around it to cup her breasts. She gasped at the feel of his hands upon her skin, the hands that had so swiftly and harshly dealt with enemies now touching her with such gentleness, such reverence, as though she were precious. Her nipples puckered and tightened as he traced them with his thumbs and then lightly pinched, sending waves of erotic sensation all through her.

His hands eased back down to her waist, over her hips, pushing the gown further down. She shifted and pulled the cumbersome fabric away from her. She rose to her knees, still in front of him, his breath hot against her neck as his hands blazed a path down her stomach to the sensitive juncture between her thighs.

She moaned softly as he parted the soft, delicate flesh, touching her carefully, tentatively, until his fingers found the phenomenally sensitive spot that seemed to ignite under his touch. Jolts of hot, shockingly sweet sensation lanced through her, left her trembling and scarcely able to breathe. Where the heck did he learn this stuff? "Good God, Clark," Lana whispered. "What are you doing to me?"

"You like that?" he whispered back.

"Yes… oh, yes…."

He continued to please her until she went limp against him, her breathing quick and shallow and her limbs about as steady as rubber bands. He quickly dispensed with his hose and braies before he bore her down onto the floor, his eyes finding hers in the firelight. They had glazed over with passion and need, just as hers had.

"Lana," he said hoarsely, "I want to make this good for you, but I don't think I can last much longer."

"It is good for me," she said breathlessly. "Do it now, Clark… I want to feel you inside of me."

He moved above her, settled himself between her thighs. "I'll try not to hurt you…"

"You could never hurt me," she whispered back, with a soft smile.

His mouth took hers in a deep, drugging kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth as he slowly eased himself inside of her. There was pain, but it was quick, and soon receded into the most incredible pleasure she could possibly imagine. She began to get used to the feel of him, his rhythm, and moved accordingly. Waves of blissful, unbelievable sensation rode through her with every silken stroke, spiraling higher and higher into a dazzling crescendo so intense, so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed her. Her nails dug crescent-shaped marks into his shoulders as she arched toward him, crying out his name. Her muscles tightened around him while exquisite tremors wracked her body. His release came soon after, every bit as intense as hers, and then they both held onto each other as they gradually spiraled down.

"I wish I could've given you something better," Clark said, when they both caught their breath. "A feather bed… candles…"

"Clark, if you gave me anything better, I'd probably be dead," Lana said with a smile. "It was perfect… just perfect."

She kissed him softly, snuggled even closer to him. "I didn't… hurt you, did I?" he asked.

"A little. But it went away fast." She regarded him slyly. "I think I'll be all right for Round Two."

He arched an eyebrow. "Round Two?"

"Well, yeah… I would think a powerful warlock would be down for another round, you know?"

"You might regret that," he teased, rolling on top of her and parting her thighs with his knee. "I'll show you just what powers I have."

"Bring it on," she whispered, before he captured her lips in a kiss that banished any semblance of logical thought from her mind.

It was going to be a long night.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Weak sunlight slanted in through the window of the hut, dispelling some of the damp chill that had settled into the air during the night. A fire crackled in the hearth, radiating pleasant warmth against Lana's back as she awoke.

She was alone, her gown and chemise draped over her naked body like a blanket. She sat up slowly. The hard floor did nothing to help her aching back, and her body was sore and tender in places she'd never really noticed before. Not that it wasn't worth it. The memory of her night with Clark came back to her, and a delicate flush warmed her cheeks. They had made love three times, each time more familiar and more comfortable than the last, but no less thrilling—if anything, even more. She felt as if she'd embarked on a journey, eager to find out what new discoveries lay around each bend. She wondered if it would still feel this way when the unfamiliar became familiar, when they'd made love enough times that she knew every curve and dimple on his body and he knew hers. She couldn't imagine ever growing bored with him.

Presently the door opened and Clark walked in, carrying a bucket of stream water and a small sack. A smile illuminated his handsome face when he saw she was awake. "Hey," he greeted her softly, kneeling down next to her.

"Hey," she replied. He leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled back, feeling suddenly shy. "You sure you want to do that? Morning breath…"

"I'll take my chances." He leaned in and she tilted her head back to receive his kiss. His lips felt cool and soft as they brushed against hers, and tasted vaguely sweet.

"I have something for you," he said when they pulled apart. He reached into the sack and produced a small red apple. "Breakfast is served."

"Mmm, breakfast in bed." She bit into the apple, finding it sweet and juicy, tangier than the apples back home. "Where did you find these?"

"There's a tree a little ways away from the stream. I found this sack in here and brought it with me, hoping I'd find something for us to eat."

"I'm glad you did. Did I ever mention that you officially rock?"

"No, but frequent reminders are always appreciated."

She laughed, her lips finding his in a sticky apple-y kiss. One kiss became another, and then another, each a little deeper and more heated than the last. She gripped his shoulders and pulled herself closer, teasing his lips with her tongue until he opened for her. "I'm thinking maybe one more for the road?" she said huskily when they came up for air.

"Sounds tempting, but we should really get going," Clark said reluctantly, pulling back.

"You are too responsible for your own good sometimes, Kent." Lana stood up and scooped up her clothes, oddly unself-conscious about her nakedness. She flashed him an arch smile when she saw him watching her, and he quickly turned away. What was it about him that unleashed the wanton wench within? But she had to admit, it was kind of fun.

She walked over to him, gently touched his back. "That arrow must've hit pretty hard… you feeling OK?"

"Huh?" Suddenly he seemed to remember. "Oh… yeah, I'll live. How about you?"

"Been better. But I'll be all right till we reach Bedford."

"Still, I think we'd better clean up that wound and change the bandage." She complied, tearing a strip from the hem of her chemise for a new bandage. The tenderness with which he cared for her still struck her. She didn't think she'd ever been treated that way before, almost with adoration. But rather than making her feel self-conscious, it just made her feel wonderful. Loved. Cherished. And she didn't want it to end.

As they walked out of the hut, she hazarded another glance at his broad back. He must've had some residual pain… maybe he was just playing the hero for her sake. It wouldn't have surprised her. It was just the sort of thing he would do. Clark hated to look vulnerable in front of anyone. _Men,_ Lana thought. She considered saying something to him, but thought the better of it. _He'll come to me in time,_ she reasoned. Besides, she knew how defensive guys could be when it came to their fragile male egos.

Still, throughout the morning, she could not put the incident out of her mind. Now that she'd had time to calm down and think, there was something not quite right about it. It was only after a few moments of reflection that she recalled something Gillian had mentioned.

_Arrows could pierce chain mail._

At noon, they stopped in a small clearing for a midday meal consisting of stream water and the remainder of the apples. It was an amazingly beautiful day for England, in the upper sixties, the blue sky actually visible for once. It was almost possible to forget the death and destruction and mayhem that had torn their lives apart just over a day ago.

As it was, the journey had been almost pleasant for Clark, despite the circumstances under which it was made. He found himself oddly reluctant to end this little interlude with Lana, where real life didn't interfere and all the things that had kept them apart before somehow seemed irrelevant. Watching her now, she looked so beautiful, so radiant, biting into a crisp apple with the juice dribbling down her chin. He couldn't help himself. He leaned forward to lick the sticky juice from her chin. Giggling, she met his lips in a soft kiss, which became another and another… and the next thing he knew, they were making love right there on the soft sun-warmed grass.

They lay tangled in each other for several moments afterward, waiting for the haze of bliss to fade before they resumed their journey. But once the high was over, Clark could not stop a twinge of guilt from darkening his good mood. He'd given in to temptation last night, but heaven help him, with all his abilities self-control wasn't among them. She'd wanted it, he'd wanted it, and he supposed it was inevitable. Not that it made it any less wrong. It wasn't fair to be intimate with Lana, not when he couldn't share the same closeness emotionally as they did physically. Although she didn't say anything about it, he saw the hope in her eyes every time they were together. He knew she figured he'd come to her in time. And would he?

It was something he grappled with every day. Sharing his secret with Pete hadn't turned out so bad. But then, Pete had been his best friend as long as he could remember. With Lana, the stakes were higher. What they had was so fragile, so precariously wonderful, that the very thought of entrusting her with a secret of much magnitude prompted a wave of chilling fear. She'd been endangered so many times on account of him. And yet, she faced it willingly, stuck by his side. How long would it be before she figured out he wasn't what he appeared—if she hadn't already?

"All right, warlock," Lana murmured affectionately, bringing him back to the present. "As much as I hate to say it, it's time we were off."

"I know." Clark sat up slowly. "You sure you're not the one who's a witch? You've got some stamina."

"I might say the same for you. If you don't mind my asking, where did you, uh… learn this stuff?" Her smile quickly melted into a frown. "Wait, maybe I don't want to know."

His eyes twinkled mischievously. "Are you jealous?"

"No."

"Yes, you are."

She scowled. "OK, so maybe I am. A little. Every time I saw Alicia, she had this little smirk on her face like she was dying to jump your bones."

"I assure you no jumping of bones occurred," he told her seriously, then grinned. "You're cute when you're jealous."

"Don't change the subject."

"Well, what do you want me to tell you?" he asked. "That I learned it all from a sacred book passed down through generations of horny teenage boys, like in _American Pie?_"

"Well, did you?"

"_No._" Although one sure would've come in handy. "I'm a guy, you know. We, uhh, hear stuff."

"Really." Now it was her turn to be amused at his expense. "Were you studying?"

"Of course not!" His face was rapidly turning the color of one of those apples. "Were you?"

"I'm a girl. I hear stuff," she said mysteriously. "What do you think we talk about, shopping and shoes?"

He held up his hands in a peacemaking gesture. "I'm sorry I asked."

"But you're not sorry I learned what I did, that's for sure."

Damn, how did she get to him so? "I'm not complaining."

"Good. Because I might have a few more tricks up my sleeve."

"Feel free to use me as your guinea pig."

She stood up, throwing a crooked smile over her shoulder as she slipped back into her chemise and gown. He stood up, too, getting dressed and then helping her lace up her gown. "You know," he said, "once we're back in civilization, we have to go back to keeping this… thing between us a secret."

Her shoulders drooped. "I know."

He ran his hands slowly along her upper arms, delighted at the shiver that moved through her. "Hopefully, it won't be for long."

"Yeah…" She pulled away awkwardly, making her way back toward their mounts. "Freshman year, Nell took me to Metropolis to see _Camelot,_" she said after a moment. "I always loved that story. I never thought I'd literally find a Lancelot to my Guinevere." She flashed him a dry smile, which soon faded. "There was something so incredibly romantic about a tragic, secret love affair… but living it turns out to be another matter altogether."

"Hey, who said it has to be tragic?" he asked, catching up to her.

"Isolde said fate would tear us apart."

"She could be wrong."

"Has she been so far?" Lana countered. She absently stroked her mount's chestnut snout. "I just… I can't lose you… not again."

"You won't," Clark said firmly. "If anyone can prove Isolde wrong, we can."

She looked up at him doubtfully. "You think?"

"I know." He let his gaze hold hers, wishing he felt the same confidence he conveyed in his voice. But something in his eyes seemed to reassure her, because the look of doubt gradually eased away and was soon replaced by hope. Then she turned away, concentrating on untying her mount's tether. "We should really get going."

The moment broken, he agreed. They rode in silence for the remainder of the afternoon, speaking only when consulting the map.

Evening had fallen when Bedford Castle came into view. It was a large, hulking stone structure, the battlements aglow with incandescent torchlight. Off to the side, the buildings comprising the village stood like squat shadows against the darkened countryside.

Lana had never been so glad to see civilization again in her life. She and Clark rode into the inner bailey, where two squires came out to see to their mounts while a third raced to the Great Hall to alert the lord, nearly tripping over himself in the process.

Clark and Lana entered the Great Hall to find Gillian standing there with Ralph. Gillian immediately rushed over to them and engulfed Lana in a crushing hug. "Thank God you're alive!"

"I could say the same for you." Lana hugged her back. Then Gillian moved on to Clark while Ralph arrived to join in the hugging frenzy.

"I'm so glad to see you, milady," he gushed to Lana, hanging on tight.

"Likewise, young sir."

"We were so worried. I was afraid Gillian and I would run into some _routiers_, or worse. I was prepared to defend her with my life."

"I'm sure you were."

"Just as Sir Kendrick was willing to defend you with his life."

"Aye… he was," Lana said softly, with a sideways glance at Clark. Meanwhile, Ralph still had his skinny arms about her waist. "Uhh, Ralph? You can let go now."

Gillian rejoined her just as Ralph stepped back. "Lana, you're wounded," the blonde said with concern, noticing the bloodstain on Lana's bodice.

"'Tis only a minor wound. I'll be fine," Lana assured her.

"I could have the physician look at it," a deep voice volunteered.

Lana looked up to find that the lord of Bedford had materialized in front of her. He was a giant of a man, a good six three or four, and would have been imposing if not for his warm expression and kind blue eyes. He appeared to be about her father's age, with gray-streaked blond hair, mustache, and neatly-trimmed beard.

"Thank you, my lord," Lana replied graciously, "but I do not think that will be necessary."

"At least let my wife look at it. She is well-versed in such things."

"I appreciate the offer, my lord. Perhaps I will."

"You know my services are available to you whenever you wish. I am Edward of Bedford," the older man continued. "Lady Lianne of Langdon, I presume?"

"'Tis I." She smiled, warmed by the man's affable personality. "My companion is Sir Kendrick de Montclair."

"Ah, yes. Your reputation precedes you," Bedford said to Clark with admiration. "The lady could not have been in better hands."

Lana thought of the literal meaning of that statement and fought to hold back a blush.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Your kinswoman, Lady Anne, has informed me about Langdon." Bedford's expression became grave. "You may stay as long as you need to. You will be safe here."

"You kindness is much appreciated," Lana told him gratefully. "You put yourself at great risk, protecting us."

"And I do it gladly, if it means opposing Blackwood." Anger crept into the older man's features. "Because of him, my son and my friend are gone. I'll not let him take his daughter as well."

"You are a good man, Bedford."

The lord provided them with a supper, which tasted absolutely heavenly to his guests after days of not eating. Gillian and Ralph explained what had befallen them after escaping Langdon. They immediately headed to the village, which was burning, but in the pandemonium they managed to make off with two horses and escaped into the woods. They rode through the night and arrived in another village the next day. Gillian obtained some boys' clothes for herself—"OK, I stole them off someone's clothesline," she said grudgingly. "But I didn't have much choice, OK? I figured we'd be safer if I tried to pass myself off as a boy." She and Ralph continued riding to Bedford and had arrived earlier that afternoon.

Clark and Lana briefly explained their escape from the castle and subsequent journey, omitting the more personal parts. After dinner, they again thanked Bedford for his kindness before servants escorted them to their respective chambers. Lana and Gillian were to share the room once occupied by Bedford's married daughter, Clark was in Robin's old room, and Ralph bided with the other squires. Lana was acutely aware of the fact that Clark's room was just down the hall from hers, although why it should matter she didn't know. But ever since they slept together, she was aware of him a way she hadn't been before. It was a visceral, purely physical sort of awareness she felt all through her.

Soon after, Bedford's wife, Lady Elisabeth, was brought by a servant to examine Lana's wound. She was a petite, sweet-faced woman much younger than her husband, with dark hair and fair skin. She cheerfully pronounced that Lana needed no stitches, then proceeded to hold a cloth soaked in strong wine to the wound to cleanse it. Needless to say, it smarted to the extent that Lana had to grit her teeth. Lady Elisabeth then wrapped the wound in a clean linen bandage and went on her way.

"Ah, wine, the all-purpose beverage and disinfectant," Gillian cracked once the lady was gone.

Just then, a servant stuck her head in the doorway and said, "Your bath is ready, Lady Lianne."

The bath felt absolutely luxurious. Lana lingered as long as she could, until the servant attending her started knocking on the door. She dressed in the clean linen chemise and hunter-green gown provided by Lady Elisabeth, then returned to her and Gillian's room. She was looking forward to finally spending the night in an actual bed.

A chemise-clad Gillian was combing her hair when Lana returned. "All right, Lana, spill it. What went down on that trip?"

"We told you at dinner," she said evasively, avoiding Gillian's eyes.

"Bollocks. Traveling through the woods alone… spending the night in an abandoned hut…."

"Gillian!" Lana pretended to be appalled. "How could you think we'd be thinking about… that… while running for our lives?"

"Because you're normal, at least as far as I can tell, and have you _looked_ at Clark lately?"

_Oh, I have,_ Lana thought, praying her expression didn't betray her feelings. "Only you would be asking about such things after we nearly got ourselves killed."

"Having your life saved seems to be turn-on for you."

"Gillian!" She was too much!

"Come on… you can tell me," Gillian coaxed. "I wouldn't think less of you… either of you. Being caught in such extenuating circumstances, things happen."

Lana didn't reply. Gillian was right about that.

"You did it, didn't you."

Lana hesitated, then nodded.

"When? Where? Am I asking too many questions that are none of my business?"

"Yes, but I figure you'll eventually wangle it out of me anyway," Lana grumbled. "Last night. In the abandoned hut."

"So what was it like?"

Lana thought for a moment, warmth tingling in her cheeks. "It was… nice."

Gillian frowned. "Nice? That's it? No offense or anything, but it doesn't say much for his abilities…"

"That's not what I meant!" Lana cut in quickly. "He was fine… more than fine, actually."

"I'll bet," said Gillian dryly. "Looks like our Clarkers is a natural at more things than fencing."

"Gilliaaannn," Lana groaned. "Remind me to embarrass the crap out of you next time an opportunity arises."

"If the opportunity is anything like yours, I'll take it."

Lana focused her attention on getting ready for bed. "Gillian?" she asked after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think… once you take this step, it could drive you apart instead of bring you closer together?"

"Why? Is something like that happening with Clark?"

"Not really. It's just… I always feel like there's something he's holding back from me."

"That isn't why you slept with him, is it?"

"No," Lana answered honestly. "I don't regret it. It was what I wanted, what we both wanted. I knew from the start that he might very well be as emotionally unavailable afterward as before."

"And is he?"

She shook her head. "No more than usual."

Gillian thought for a moment, biting her lip. "I really don't know what to say. You two seem so close… like you have this bond, you know? At least that's what it seems like to me. Given your history, maybe he's just afraid. Once burned, twice shy, as they always say."

Lana wasn't sure she was convinced. "That makes sense, but as long as we've been together, he was always sort of… reserved. He's never been one to talk about his feelings."

"Well, maybe that's just his personality," Gillian suggested. "Some guys just aren't comfortable talking about their feelings. Some stupid male ego thing. If that's the case, maybe you shouldn't expect him to straight-up tell you how he feels. If he really loves you, you'll know. I'm getting the impression that when it comes to Clark, actions speak louder than words."

"You think?" Lana asked dubiously.

"Yeah, totally. I can tell that he loves you… just in the way he looks at you, how he treats you, even the things he says, in his inarticulate roundabout guy way."

Lana had to smile at that one. She supposed it made sense. But everything between her and Clark was so complicated. How could Gillian understand that?

"I'm just worried that might not be enough for me," Lana confessed. "At some point, I need to know there are no secrets between us."

"Well, you might be waiting a long time," Gillian said in her typical forthright manner. "It might come down to deciding if you can handle having that kind of relationship with Clark. If it's enough for you, fine. But if it's not, you may have to look elsewhere."

_But I don't want to look elsewhere,_ Lana wanted to say. Why did it always come down to this?

"Sex really does complicate things," she said.

"Tell me about. There was this one guy, Rob, that I knew was bad news, but dang, was he good in the sack."

"You stayed with him for the sex?"

"Well… I'll put it this way, I considered it my consolation prize."

Lana regarded her pensively. "You think great sex might make me blind to the numerous things wrong in Clark's and my relationship?"

"Maybe at first, but it always catches up to you. When I was with Rob, I knew there were serious things wrong with us. It kept me hanging on but after a while, it wasn't enough."

Lana just nodded, thinking about it. She'd been so sure last night, and now… now everything was so much more muddled. She had no illusions that sleeping together would automatically bring them closer. She'd done it because she wanted him, wanted to feel that connection, if only for a little while. But she found herself unable to divorce sex from love, as Gillian seemed to. Maybe it was just her, but she felt as if more than their bodies came together that night. That in the simple act of making love somehow their very souls seemed to merge as one. He now and would always have all of her… was it too much to ask to have all of him in return?

She only hoped Gillian was right. Maybe she was expecting too much from Clark. Maybe the best she could hope for was implicitly sensing the words he wouldn't say. She would wait for him to come to her… and if he didn't, she'd just have to learn to deal.

Because there was no way she was giving him up now. She loved him too much. And if Isolde's prophecy turned out to be right, well, she didn't think her heart could recover.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Lana had never had such wonderful sleep in her life. There was no describing how luxurious a feather bed felt after sleeping on the hard ground for two nights. But she did miss waking up next to Clark, his body warm and solid against hers.

But that would have to wait till they got home.

It felt strange to be waking up in another castle, attending morning mass in another chapel, and breaking her fast in someone else's Great Hall. But at least Bedford had the same standards of cleanliness that Lianne apparently did. The hall was neat and uncluttered, the floor covered in fresh rushes. Pages served them at breakfast and were quick and efficient in clearing the room of dirty dishes, silverware, and table scraps.

After breakfast, Bedford summoned Lana to come with him. "Can Lady Anne accompany me?"

"Certainly."

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in the lists," Clark announced, and took off.

Meanwhile, Gillian and Lana followed Bedford to his treasury, where he removed a cloth-covered bundle from a shelf. "I was unsure if I should give this to you, but I think your father would have wanted you to have it," he said.

Intrigued, Lana accepted the bundle. Carefully untying the twine that bound the cloth, she pulled back the fabric to reveal a rolled-up piece of parchment. The wax seal remained intact, and bore the unmistakable mark of the house of Langdon.

"That letter was for you, Lianne," Bedford said. "Why he sent it here, I don't know. But I haven't opened it."

Lana nodded, accepting the parchment with trembling hands. "Thank you, my lord. If I may have a bit of privacy…"

"Certainly. I shall be waiting outside." Bedford left the room.

Lana broke the seal and unrolled the letter. "Shall I read?" Gillian asked. Lana nodded.

Gillian cleared her throat, then read Henry's final letter to his daughter.

My Dear Lianne,

I'm sure you've heard from Bedford that matters in France have gone awry. Robin lies in a French hospital recovering from his wounds, so his return will be delayed. Do not fret; the doctor said he should recover nicely. I return on the morrow at his insistence. He fears for your safety staying in Langdon alone, and I must say I agree. You are all I have left in this world. If aught should happen to me, I need to know that someone will be there to watch over you.

Why am I writing of such matters, you ask? Well, there is something I've known for a long time but never saw fit to mention until now. You are the truest and most loyal daughter a father could ask for, and surely you understand your duty in marrying Robin. But 'tis not he with whom your heart lies, is it? Nay, my Lianne… 'tis the knight you love, Sir Kendrick de Montclair. If nobility were defined solely by one's actions, a better man you could not have chosen. But can he truly give you what you need? His questionable origins and mysterious past will always stand between you. He has lived his life by the sword and will doubtless die by it also. 'Tis in his blood, Lianne… he is bound to his calling and I'm not sure if even the love of a woman can break that bond.

I write this not to be cruel. I'm sure your love is true, however impossible. Perhaps someday it will be a pleasant memory rather than something that causes you pain. Robin is a good man, and he will give you the best life he can. Perhaps you may even come to love him. Granted, it may not be the same kind of love you shared with Kendrick, but your days and nights with him will be happy ones. I know life isn't always fair. Certainly it is not easy. But no matter what path you choose, always remember that I love you, and I could never be disappointed in you.

Your loving father,

Henry

Gillian's voice gradually faded away, letting Henry's final words to his daughter hang in the air like vapor.

"Poor Lianne," Lana murmured. "That letter was so final… like he knew he was going to die."

"Maybe he did," Gillian said quietly.

"You think he was clairvoyant?"

"Or it could just be a good old fashioned gut feeling," Gillian suggested. "Interesting, what he wrote about Kendrick. With every new thing we learn about him, he really seems larger than life. And to think… your boyfriend was chosen to play him in this little drama."

Lana gave a shy smile. "There are times I think Clark is a bit larger-than-life, himself."

"Do you mean that figuratively, or literally?" Gillian couldn't keep the wicked gleam out of her eyes. "Both, perhaps?"

"Gillian!" Lana scowled, face flaming.

"I get it, I get it. Classified info. But I would say definitely literally, judging by that blush."

"All right, getting our minds out of the gutter here," Lana said pointedly. "I'm worried about him, Gillian. Blackwood has the breviary. I'm sure he's figured out that we've fled by now, and that we're here. If the story continues as it's supposed to, Blackwood's going to challenge Kendrick to a duel." Worry crept over her features. "Gillian, we can't let Clark fight him. He's supposed to die!"

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Gillian reassured her, but her grim tone belied her optimistic words. "We'll figure something out. I refuse to believe we were brought here simply as puppets to live out some prophecy."

"We better not be." But Lana could not stop the chilling fear at the thought of Clark dueling Blackwood. He'd been incredibly brave and tough so far, but Blackwood was a seasoned warrior. But what worried her most of all was that prophecy hanging over their heads like dark cloud.

Time was running out. If they planned to change history, they'd better do it soon.

At dinner, Gillian and Lana shared their findings with Clark. They spent the rest of their afternoon practicing fencing, which helped somewhat as an outlet for the tension. Evening found Lana and Gillian in the solar with Lady Elisabeth, with whom they shared a pleasant conversation while helping with the mending. At least the lady's company temporarily distracted them from the dilemma weighing heavily on their minds.

That night, Lana couldn't sleep. Gillian, damn her, drifted into dreamland practically as soon as her head hit the pillow. But Lana could not stop thinking about Henry's letter. His words regarding Kendrick haunted her, their uncanny resemblance to a far more familiar story striking an eerie chord.

_His questionable origins and mysterious past will always stand between you… _ _'Tis in his blood, Lianne… _ _he is bound to his calling and I'm not sure if even the love of a woman can break that bond._

_You're_ _being crazy,_ Lana told herself. She and Clark might be playing Lianne and Kendrick in this little drama, but they weren't the same people. Clark was a twenty-first century high school guy, not a medieval knight who pledged his life to the sword. What on earth kind of calling could a high school boy have? Still… _I refuse to believe we were brought here simply as puppets to live out some prophecy_. Then why were they brought here? Somehow, their lives must be inextricably tied to these people, their fates linked in time.

And from what little Lana knew of these people's fates, the outcome didn't bode well.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of tossing and turning, she finally gave up on sleep altogether. With a sideways glance at Gillian, she silently rose from the bed and crept toward the door, the moonbeams slanting through the window lighting her way. She slipped out of the room and into the darkened corridor, the cool draft instantly chilling her skin through the thin chemise. Goose bumps cropped up all along the back of her neck and her arms. _God, what am I doing?_

Despite her better judgment, her feet continued as if on their own accord. It was crazy, impulsive, and probably an all-around bad idea, but the compulsion to be next to Clark, to feel his strong reassuring arms encircling her and the soft caress of his breath, was too strong to resist. Drawing a deep breath, she tried the door to his room. It was unlocked. Slowly she nudged the door open, stopping dead when a loud creak cut the silence. She froze, barely able to hear over the blood roaring in her ears. But there was no answering sound of a door unlatching down the hall, nothing but the wind whispering its lonely song through the battlements. Letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Lana slipped through the door and latched it behind her.

She hadn't woken Clark, had she? Her gaze swung toward the bed, where a shaft of moonlight illuminated his sleeping form. For a moment she simply watched him sleep, the crisp white sheet rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing. She drifted toward him, silent and wraithlike. But despite the fact that she hadn't made a sound, he must've sensed her presence, for she was but a few steps from the bed when his eyelids fluttered open. He regarded her sleepily. "Lana?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

_That's what I'd like to know._

He had to be dreaming. Why else would he awaken for no apparent reason to find a chemise-clad Lana standing next to his bed? And Lord, was she was beautiful in the moonlight. The cool night breeze stirred her almost-translucent chemise, caused the face-framing strands of her hair to dance around her face like dark silver. The only thing marring the perfection of the vision was the turbulent expression in her soft green eyes.

Yes, this had to be a dream. But if it was, he had no plans on waking up anytime soon.

"Lana… what are you doing here?"

Her creamy throat bobbed. "I… I couldn't sleep."

"Oh.…" He wasn't sure what else to say to that.

"I can't stop thinking about Henry's letter… the things he said about you—about Kendrick."

"Lana, you know Kendrick and I aren't the same person."

"You are now."

He couldn't deny that. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She started to nod, then changed her mind. "I don't know. I just… I wanted to be with you. Just for a little while."

He scooted aside, pulling back the covers. "All right… come here."

She hesitated briefly before sinking down on the bed, her eyes darting over his chest, stomach, and then down below. "You, um, sleep naked?"

"Well, normally I wear boxers, but seeing how elastic hasn't been invented yet, it's pretty hard to get comfortable in a leather belt and braies."

She gave a shy smile and nodded, quickly averting her eyes from strategic places as she lay down next to him. He settled behind her, his arm wrapping her slender waist as he cradled her against him spoon-fashion. Her hair tickled his bare chest, her light clean scent stirring something inside of him. He felt the warmth of her body through the fine linen, a sensation both wonderful and torturous at the same time.

"It's going to be all right, Lana," he assured her in a low, caressing tone. "I'm right here."

"I know," she whispered. "I just… I worry about you. Look what happened to Kendrick. He's supposed to die, Clark. _You're_ supposed to die."

"You don't know that."

"But everything's going just like the story… Blackwood's going to challenge you to a duel. You can't accept. I won't let you."

"Hopefully it won't come to that."

"But what if it does?"

"Then we deal." He reached up, gently caressed a smooth cheek. "I swore to protect you, Lana… and I'll do whatever I have to."

"Including lay down your life?" She rolled over to face him. "Clark, every time I've lost you… every time you pushed me away… it was on the pretense of protecting me. I can't do this anymore. One of these days you're going to have to reconcile yourself to the fact that I won't leave your side. If it puts me in danger, so be it. I'll gladly face it with you."

The earnestness in her tone, the plaintive look in her eyes, pierced him right to the core. "If anything happened to you on account of me, I couldn't live with myself," he said.

"I think that goes both ways," she replied, quietly.

He was silent, hypnotized by those luminous eyes and silken voice. His gaze slid down to her trembling lips, parted slightly, and he found himself longing to kiss away all the uncertainty and fear, to escape inside of each other as they had that night in the woods.

"When I went to confession," she continued, "the priest asked me if I was willing to give up everything I believed in for love. I don't know about Lianne, but I've made my decision. I'm willing to give it all up for you. I love you, Clark… like I never imagined I could love anyone."

Her breath hitched her throat as she gazed up at him, her heart laid out for him to accept or reject. He knew what he should do. But he also knew what he wanted to do, more than anything on this earth. And heaven help him, was it so evil to do just one for _him_… for her… and not this damned secret? "I love you, too, Lana," was his husky reply. "I always gave. I think I may have loved you even before I met you."

She simply gazed up at him, hope and joy radiating from those beautiful eyes. He leaned forward, her eyes sliding closed as he brushed a soft kiss on each of her eyelids. He kissed her nose, the corners of her mouth, the soft spot on her neck where her pulse fluttered against his lips. Her hands reached up to caress his shoulders, her touch feather-light and innocently seductive. Her lips found in the lightest of kisses, as gentle as the caress of a butterfly's wing but more incendiary than a lick of flame.

She shifted her position, pulling herself closer as the kiss deepened. His arm looped about her back and he pressed her against him, his thigh easing between her legs and lightly pressing her sex. She gave a soft gasp, the sensation subtle but incredibly effective. Meanwhile his other hand eased between them to cup her breast, his thumb delicately stroking her nipple through the linen. He felt it tighten and peak beneath his hand. A moment later his mouth replaced his hand, wetting the fabric, his tongue swirling in a hot path around the peak while a soft whimper escaped her trembling lips.

Her hands buried themselves in his hair as he continued to pleasure her. Her body arched toward him in a plea for more, which he was all too happy to give her. He raised his head to capture her lips in a deep, heated kiss, then rolled onto his back while pulling her on top of him. His tongue invaded her mouth and stroked hers in a heated, sensual dance that only served to further stoke the flames. Her hands flattened against his chest as his roamed the curves of her body, snagging the hem of her chemise and tugging. She raised her arms and in one smooth movement, he pulled the garment over her head and tossed it aside.

His breath caught as he glimpsed her atop him, naked and beautiful in the silvery moonlight. Her hair was loose and alluringly tousled, tumbling over her shoulders to brush the rosy tips of her breasts. The hunger he felt was mirrored in her eyes as he bent toward him. He reached between them, slid his hand between her thighs to find her already wet and ready for him. He eased a long finger into her hot, slick passage, stroking deeply, until her soft gasp of delight assured him he had found a sweet spot. Meanwhile, his thumb gently parted the soft folds of flesh to find her exquisitely sensitive nub. Her hips bucked against his hand, straining toward him, straining for that elusive taste of heaven that was almost within her grasp. Moments later she exploded into her climax, shuddering and trembling above him while she sobbed his name like a prayer.

But they weren't finished yet—no, far from it. She was still caught up in the haze of her climax when he gripped her hips and positioned her above him. His sex burned and throbbed, aching to be buried to the hilt within her slick softness. But she denied him, hovering above him while allowing her flesh to temptingly brush against his. Finally she lowered herself slowly, taking him partially in, then pulling back, continuing the cycle until he was sure he was going to explode from the tension. It was only when she saw the effect she was having on him, his jaw clenched in resolute restraint while his hands fisted on the sheets, that she allowed him what he wanted. She lowered herself until she was fully impaled, her eyes never leaving his, and gently guided his hands to her hips.

She began to move above him, his hands guiding her hips until they found a rhythm. Only moments passed, but it felt like years as they came together in a coupling so sensual, so intense, it was almost overwhelming. White-hot sensation seared through him, eclipsing every other part of his consciousness but the beautiful woman above him and the love and desire reflected in her eyes. If only everything could always make such perfect sense as it did now. The thought was but a flickering spark across his consciousness as his climax crashed into him, blotting out all semblance of rational thought as they both brought each other soaring to the heights of heaven and then back.

Lana awoke in the dark, unsure how long she'd been asleep given the absence of any sort of timepiece. But she figured should probably leave soon if she expected to sneak back into the room she shared with Gillian before anyone knew she'd been gone.

Still, she was reluctant to leave, reluctant to return to her room alone and break the spell. She hadn't sneaked into Clark's room with the intention of seducing him. She just wanted to feel close to him. But one thing led to another, as it usually did with them, and she was no more able to resist the temptation than a moth was able to resist the lure of a flame.

He lay asleep beside her, lying on his back, looking almost angelic in the faint light seeping in through the window. She observed the way his impossibly long, thick lashes brushed his cheek, the slightly prominent nose and lush, full lips. The sheet had fallen back to reveal his beautifully sculpted chest, rippling with corded muscle from years of farm work. She traced her finger along the hollow at the center of his chest, up to his tanned throat and back again. Unable to resist, she leaned over him and let her lips follow the path her finger had taken.

His heavy lids fluttered open, but she continued her ministrations, pretending not to notice that he was awake. He lay so perfectly still, it wasn't difficult. Her land slid over those magnificently toned abs, taking no shame in her blatant enjoyment of his body. Her hand started to ease lower before he caught her wrist, stopping her short.

"You'd best be getting back to your room soon," he said, a sly hint of a smile curving that sensuous mouth. "Don't be starting anything we can't finish."

"We've got time," Lana whispered back, favoring him with her most beguiling smile.

Clark turned his head away. "No. Not working."

"Then I'll have to try something else." She kissed his neck, flicking her tongue along the spot where his pulse beat an irregular tattoo.

"You're a saucy little wench, aren't you?"

"What can I say? You bring it out in me." A slow, sly smile spread across her face. "You've got me under your thrall, warlock."

He smiled, but the smile began to look a little strained around the edges. "You can stop calling me that… I'm just a normal guy."

"Not to me, you aren't." She did not shy from his gaze, nor did she miss the distinctly uncomfortable edge it had acquired. "There's no way in the world you'll ever convince me you're a normal guy. I've kept quiet about it till now, hoping you'd come to me eventually, but… I know, Clark."

His face remained carefully expressionless. "Know what?"

"That you're different. You have to be. Nothing can explain the bizarreness of everything that's happened here… or back home, for that matter."

She sensed him pulling back from her. "Lana… can we not do this now?"

"No, we need to talk about it." She searched his gaze, refusing to let him squirm away from her. "Whatever this secret of yours is, Clark, it's come between us one too many times. I won't let it happen again."

"Can't you just drop it?" he implored. "Please?"

"Why?" she countered. "Why does it bother you so much? You keep saying I couldn't handle it. That it might somehow change my opinion of you. You seem to forget that I'm here for the long haul… no matter what."

"That's easy for you to say right now," he muttered.

"Try me."

He appeared to be struggling with something, and she was torn between frustration and compassion. "I want to tell you… I really do, but…."

"But what?" She caught his chin in her hand, caressed it gently. "You can trust me, Clark… you know that, right?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then tell me," she urged. "What are you so afraid of? You know I love you… and nothing you tell me could ever change that." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You've been my strength so many times. This time, let me be yours."

She continued to touch his cheek, wishing he would look at her, wishing for _something_ to show that she was getting through to him. His eyes did find hers briefly, and the look in them was so tortured, so vulnerable, it caused her breath to catch. But as quickly as it came the look disappeared, replaced by an impassive stare as she felt him gradually withdraw from her. "I can't, Lana. Please try to understand. I love you so much… isn't that enough for you?"

"How can I believe that?" she whispered. "How can I believe you when you won't let me in? Love means the acceptance of every part of that person… the darkness, the ugliness, the things they won't let anyone else see. You can't keep up this act forever. It's going to destroy you just as it's eventually going to destroy us."

"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" he asked.

She swallowed, suddenly aware that a massive lump had formed in her throat. "I don't want to," she whispered.

He turned away from her, and the dull knot in the pit of her stomach pulled tighter. "I think you'd best go now, Lana… the sun's rising."

Sure enough, the first faint rays of sunlight were seeping through the window. _I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry,_ Lana told herself, rising from the bed and retrieving her chemise. But just before she opened the door, she turned back to him with shining eyes. "I still love you, Clark," she said softly. "And I'm not going to stop anytime soon."

Without waiting for a response, she opened the door and slipped out.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

"Mercy, sir!" The boy panted, swaying backwards in time to dodge another swipe. "Please… I can't take it anymore!"

"Think you can say that in battle?" Clark gave another swipe with his sword, neatly disarming his squire, who shrank back in horror upon finding a blade quivering at his throat. "Your foe cares not how tired you are. Cry mercy and he'll only slit your throat slower."

Ralph gulped, his throat bobbing against the perilous blade. He seemed at a loss for words.

"Good God, Kendrick, what are you doing to the poor boy?" A willowy blonde strode over, hands folded over her chest while the wind stirred the stray face-faming strands that had escaped from her long braid.

"Can't you see he's exhausted?" she asked. "What's crawled up your arse this morning, anyway?"

He returned her scowl with an even darker one of his own. "Such language hardly befits a lady."

"Cut the crap, Kendrick. This is the lists, not a court ball."

Ralph regarded Gillian with round eyes.

"Go on, boy," Gillian dismissed him. "Take a rest. Wash up. You'll need to help with dinner soon, anyway."

Regarding her with the dumbfounded expression that seemed permanently etched in his dirt-smeared face, the squire beat a hasty retreat.

"Now are you going to tell me what your deal is, or do I have to beat it out of you?" Gillian demanded once they were alone.

Clark looked at her in amazement. She had some nerve. He was already in a foul mood, and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with Gillian. "I'm really not in the mood right now."

"Well, tough. We're going to talk about it and you're not walking away."

"Think you can stop me?" he demanded, but his heart wasn't in it.

Gillian drew her sword, apparently taking him seriously. "Then let's have it out. I win, you talk. I lose, we don't."

"I don't want to fight you, Gillian."

"Why, afraid you'll hurt me?" She smirked. "We'll see how those CK-model pecs stand against seven years of fencing experience."

That caught him off-guard. "You think I have pecs like a—"

His question was instantly cut off by the flash of Gillian's sword as it cut straight toward him. Instinctively he threw up his own sword, their blades meeting with a resounding clash. Thus began the match. For all his furious energy, Clark found himself repeatedly foiled by Gillian, who dodged, ducked, and parried with a seemingly innate grace. Her position was spot-on perfect as she lunged and thrust, her blade catching a vulnerable spot and cutting a long slash in his tunic. Of course, he wasn't using his powers, but even so, she was giving him a run for his money.

"Come on, Clark," she goaded. "Don't hold back. Give me all you got."

"I don't think you want me to do that."

Their blades crashed and locked, their faces hovering less than a foot apart. "Think I can't handle it?" Gillian mocked.

"I think you don't know what you're saying."

"I think I know _exactly_ what I'm saying." She drew back, moving in for another attack with lighting-quick reflexes. He caught her just in time, blocking the blow and sending her reeling backwards.

She recovered quickly. "What's the matter, Kent? What are you afraid of?"

"Come on, Gillian, quit messing around," he said. "This is stupid---gaaah!"

Her blade whistled past his ear in a silver flash, severing a lock of his hair. He dodged aside just in time. "Goddamnit, Gillian!"

"Well, are you going to cease with this gentleman bullshit already and fight me?" she retorted.

He was starting to get ticked. She wanted a fight? She had one! Obviously, he wouldn't use his powers, but he was sure that even without them he could wipe that smirk off her face. He lunged. She saw it coming and parried. On and on the battle went, with Gillian slowly being driven back toward the fence. Her back brushed the wood as their blades met in one last clash. Twisting his blade in the exact way she had taught him, Clark efficiently disarmed her. But her blade had not yet hit the ground when she whipped her dagger out from under her belt. The blade landed at his throat at the very same instant his sword came to a quivering stop at hers.

She smirked. "So who wins?"

"I guess it's a draw." Grudgingly, he lowered his sword.

Gillian was unruffled. "You're not bad, Kent… at fencing anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

"Just that it's quite clear to me that for all of your talents, you're a piss-poor liar. I know something's up. You wanna tell me what's going on, or should I?"

"Please, enlighten me," he said mockingly, even though he'd probably end up regretting it.

"I know about you and Lana," Gillian told him. "She doesn't know I was awake, but I saw her sneak back into our room last night. I heard her crying. Three guesses where she was and with whom, and the first two don't count."

Lana was _crying_? Feeling suddenly sick, Clark turned away.

But Gillian wasn't about to back down. "So I'm wondering, what is with you men that a good lay never fails to bring out the inner arsehole? _Buffy_ sure had it right when Angel turned evil as soon as he got some happy."

"Not to be rude or anything, but this is between me and Lana."

"Oh, please, if I left it up to you it'd be the year 2050 before anything was accomplished," was her sarcastic reply. "Avoidance thy name is man. You boys will never talk directly about anything without a swift kick in the arse, and since Lana's too nice to do the honors I'll just have to do it for her."

"You really think you have men figured out, don't you?"

"Am I wrong in any of this?"

"What if I tell you I never meant to hurt her?" he demanded. "What if I tell you it was for her own good?"

"Yeah, you're doing her a lot of good now," Gillian countered. "She loves you, Clark. All she wants from you is the truth. Is that too much to ask?"

"I just… I need more time," he faltered.

"Time for what? For her to get sick of your bullshit and move on? You must be a real stallion in the sack, because I can't think of any other reason why she's sticking around."

"Is that what you think?" he shot back "There's more to a relationship than sex, Gillian. Or is that all your relationships were ever about?"

She held up her hands. "Whoa. That was seriously uncool."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Gillian. You're right. I was out of line. It's just… you wouldn't understand."

"You're right, I don't understand." She fixed him with a hard stare. "Do you guys watch too many Meg Ryan movies or what? Love isn't some cutesy, scripted thing. You don't say all the right lines at the right time. Love is dark, ugly and messed-up. You have to be willing to get down and dirty. You have to lay all of yourself out on the line, not just the smart witty part that says all the right things but the screwed-up, messy, dysfunctional part that is the personality equivalent of how you look first thing in the morning without any makeup and uncombed hair. One of these days, Lana's going to see you without makeup." A funny expression came over her face. "Wait, that didn't come out right. But you know what I mean."

Clark was silent for a moment, running his fingers down the flat of his blade and studiously avoiding Gillian's eyes.

"I know I'm hardly the most qualified person to give love advice, seeing as I'm the poster girl for dysfunctional relationships," Gillian continued. "But all those mistakes I'm accusing you of making… I made them, too. I never fell in love with any of the guys I was with. I did everything in my power not to. I left someone behind in England because I wasn't ready for it yet… wasn't ready for him to see the _real_ me. I'm not always the cool, collected chica you see right now." She gave a dry smile. "The problem is, it eventually catches up to you. You not only destroy the relationship but you slowly destroy yourself."

For a moment he just stood there, letting her words sink in. "But what if I can't do that… let her see what I've kept secret for so long?" he asked after a moment.

"Then you don't deserve her," Gillian said softly.

She lingered a moment, the hardness fading from her eyes long enough to view him with an odd, almost sympathetic expression. _Such a damaged boy,_ she thought. _What ugly secrets are hiding behind that beautiful face?_

Then she turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the lists, alone with his thoughts.

"A message from Lord Blackwood," the messenger announced, standing stiffly in the middle of Bedford's Great Hall.

Lana's wine goblet crashed to the floor. Blood-red drops spattered on the skirt of her peach silk gown, but she barely noticed. Even as a page hastened over to mop up the mess, she was immobilized as he hovered about her feet.

"Give it to me," Bedford ordered.

The messenger made his way over and passed him the rolled-up parchment. Bedford broke the seal and unrolled it, anger creeping over his features as he scanned the missive.

"What is it?" Gillian asked, both anticipating and dreading the answer.

"During the battle, some of Blackwood's men saw Kendrick running off with the lady," Bedford said. "He knows you're here. He calls Kendrick a coward, challenging him to fight like a man. Kendrick is to meet him at the lists outside of Langdon at dawn two days from now. They will duel, with the lady as the prize."

_Oh, God._ Lana went pale, thankful she was sitting at the table for her legs would surely have given out if she were standing.

"And if I don't show up?" Clark wanted to know.

"He has threatened to attack my kingdom if you do not comply."

Lana's mouth went dry.

"I'll do it," Clark said. "I can't endanger you or your subjects anymore, my lord. You have already put yourself at great risk protecting us. This is my fight… not yours."

"Are you _crazy?_" Lana burst out, unable to stop herself. "'Tis madness to take on Blackwood! You're going to die!"

"I have no choice."

"Damn right you have a choice! You can cease this foolishness and come to your senses!" she exclaimed. "I'll not let you die here, not for me. Not for your masculine pride."

"There's more than pride at stake here," Clark shot back. "Bedford's kingdom has been threatened. The madman will stop at nothing to have you. And he'll stop at nothing to get to me." Anger sparked in his green eyes, almost enough to make Lana shrink back. _Courage,_ she told herself.

"So that's it? You're not even going to _try_ to find another solution?" She glanced from Clark to Bedford, imploring the older man with her eyes.

Bedford's expression was one of grim resignation. "Kendrick is right. Blackwood is a madman. This land would be better off with him out of the picture."

"But what if Kendrick does not win?" Lana persisted.

"My lady, we are speaking of the finest knight ever to grace England _and_ the continent. He is virtually undefeated. Think you Blackwood is any match for him?"

_But the prophecy,_ she wanted to say. _I'm from the future. I know what's going to happen!_ "'Tis ill-advised to rest on your laurels. I take nothing for granted."

Bedford's expression softened. "I'll not deny that 'tis a hard life you've lived, my lady. You've lost the two men most dear to you, and the one who would be your husband. But you must let Kendrick do this. We will finish this business with Blackwood once and for all."

"But he'll kill him," Lana insisted, plaintively. "He'll _kill_ him."

"You mustn't lose hope," Bedford urged. "Believe in him. 'Tis all you can do now."

Lana fought a sudden and irrational urge to start crying. It was all going just as it was supposed to! And she was helpless to do anything to stop it.

"I'll not die, Lianne," a low voice spoke up. A shiver snaked down her spine at the sound of it, the way that voice caressed her skin like velvet, murmured her name so sweetly last night…

Lana turned to face Clark, who stared at her with an intimacy that felt as though they were touching, even though he sat across the table from her. "I have too much to live for," he said. "We both do."

She gulped, praying Bedford did not notice the heat that practically shimmered between them. As angry, bitter, and disappointed as she felt toward him now, she still loved him. So much it hurt. So much it tore her apart inside to think of him facing his doom tomorrow.

"I'll not let you die," she whispered back.

Clark let her eyes hold his for a moment before turning back to Bedford. "We leave at dawn on the morrow," he said crisply. "Ralph will accompany me. Know you of a convent where the ladies will be safe, my lord? I put nothing past Blackwood."

"I will go to no convent," Lana broke in, her voice coldly resolute. "If you are to take part in this foolishness, then I shall accompany you."

"You've already put yourself in enough danger for me," Clark said tersely.

"Then I've no issue about putting myself in more." She stared him down, refusing to give an inch. "If you try to keep me away, it won't work. Send me to convent, and I will only escape and go to you. I suggest you save us both a lot of trouble and comply right now."

"I've no doubt she'll do it, too," Bedford jumped in. "I've known her from girlhood. She's a willful young lady with a knack for getting herself in trouble. Clever, too. But you know that already, don't you?"

Clark glared for a moment, but he knew it was a losing battle. "Very well," he said grudgingly. "The lady shall come as well. But I insist upon bringing two guards to watch over her, should Blackwood try to pull anything."

"Your request is reasonable," Bedford agreed. "I will arrange to have mounts and supplies ready for you on the morrow."

And just like that, it was decided. Tomorrow they set out on their most perilous journey yet. And there wasn't a thing they could do to prevent it.

Night fell over Bedford castle. Lana sat at the window seat in Lady Elisabeth's least-used solar, staring unseeingly through the glass and out into the forest. A light footfall alerted her of another presence in the room, and the sudden outbreak of goose bumps along the back of her neck made the identity of this person painfully clear.

"I had a feeling I'd find you here," Clark said.

"Clark, please… I don't want to get into this now," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

"Lana, we need to talk."

"There's nothing more to say. You've made your feelings abundantly clear." _He is bound to his calling, and I fear not even the love of a woman is strong enough to break that bond._

"You're wrong about that."

Pent-up anger flooded over her in a hot wash. "What do you want from me, Clark? I was willing to give up everything for you. I love you. You say you love me, but you're clearly not willing to give up everything for me. Some girls might be able to deal with that, but I can't. Someday you're going to have to make a decision… this secret of yours or me."

"I have," he said quietly.

The icy hand of fear gripped her heart, and she found herself blinking against the sting of tears. "I see."

"I spoke to Gillian this morning," he went on. "I was wrong, Lana. I said this was all for your own good, but it wasn't. It was never about you… it's about me. About me being afraid to let you see me… the real me."

She looked up, hoping he did not see how bright her eyes were. "Why?" she whispered. "Do you really give me that little credit? Do you really think I'd change my mind about you so easily?"

"You might rethink that when you hear what I'm about to say."

She shook her head. "Nothing could change my mind about you."

"Even if everything you thought you knew about me turns out to be a lie?"

"That's not possible," she said quietly. "The part of you that you let me see… that was real. No matter what happened in your past, it won't change the fact that you're still the guy I fell in love with."

He sat down next to her, looking as though he wanted so badly to believe it, but just couldn't. "I should never have let myself get so close to you. Everything that's happened to you… it's all because of me."

"Clark, what are you talking about?" She reached out, gently slipped her small white hand over his large, tanned one. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. Can't you see that?"

He shook his head. "You almost died because of me… so many times."

"You're not making any sense." She regarded him with a confused expression. "Maybe you should start from the beginning?"

He drew a breath, gathering his thoughts together. "The day of the meteor shower… the fact that it's the same day I showed up is no coincidence."

"OK…" she said slowly, unsure what he was leading up to.

"When my parents found me in the corn field, they found something else… a space ship."

Well, that was unexpected. "A space ship," she repeated.

He nodded. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's the truth. We kept it in the storm cellar until I destroyed it."

She frowned. "Why?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"We'll get to that," he assured her. "But as I was growing up, my parents noticed I wasn't exactly a normal kid. All those things the professor said Kendrick could do… having the strength of ten men, burning objects with his eyes, running faster than birds can fly… I can do them, too."

"Wait, wait," Lana cut him off. "Are you telling me that you're from another planet?"

"Well, yeah."

For a moment she was at a loss. "You'll have to excuse me if I have a hard time believing this. I've heard some pretty whack things from guys in the past, but this has got to take the cake."

"Need I remind you that you've been involved with a guy who thought he was a spider, a guy who could split himself in half—which, I might add, is _really_ gross—a literal chick magnet, and as of late, someone who was actually _dead?_"

"Good point," she acknowledged. "But none of them thought he was an alien."

"Do you want me to prove it to you?" he questioned. "Watch." He stared intently at an torch on the wall, which flared to life within seconds. Lana was still looking on, dumbfounded, when Clark passed her a spool of thread. "Throw it across the room."

She frowned. "What?"

"Throw it across the room."

She did. He raced across the room, caught the spool, and handed it back to her in less than the span of a second.

Lana could only stare blankly at the spool of thread in his outstretched hand. "Oh, my God," she murmured.

"Now do you believe me?"

She could only finger the thread stupidly as he sat back down beside her. "It explains so much," she mumbled. "The tornadoes… the phone call… the _routiers_…." She looked up at him in amazement. "But you look just like us."

"You were expecting maybe scaly and green with eight arms?"

"How can this be?" she asked. "Everything about you is so _human_... you talk like us… think like us… have the same feelings as us.…" She reached up, rested her hand against his chest. With her free hand she lifted his hand and placed it to her chest. "Your heart beats just like us."

"But I'm not just like you," he said, quietly.

"You are to me," she whispered.

For a moment he was at a loss, unsure what to make of her reaction. "You're not freaked out? You're not afraid?"

"Of course I'm freaked out. How could I not be?" she said truthfully. "But afraid? Clark, I could never be afraid of you."

He simply gazed at her, scarcely daring hope that she was really going to accept this so easily.

He was right. "It's just… how could you keep the truth from me for so long?" she asked, her voice catching. "Did you think I'd tell? Did you think I couldn't handle it? Or did you just not trust me enough?"

"Well, if you were the one with the secret, what would you have done?" he wanted to know. "I spent my whole life having it drilled into my head by my parents that no one was ever supposed to know. Do you think I like being some kind of freak? Do you think I like never being able to get close to anyone because they'd _know_?"

"You haven't told anyone? Not even Pete and Chloe?"

"Pete knows. Chloe doesn't."

"You told Pete?"

"It sort of happened by accident. I didn't intend to."

She paused, unable to resist asking another question even though she didn't really want to know the answer. "What about other girlfriends?"

He hesitated a little too long for her liking. It was then that something Lana had nearly forgotten about streaked into her mind. "So this is what Alicia meant when she said you told her everything," she murmured. Hurt and anger sparked in her eyes. "Looks like you weren't afraid to get close to her. Did you tell her you loved her, too? Was it before or after you spilled everything?"

"Lana, you have to understand," Clark implored. "I wanted so much to find someone like me, someone who had powers… who would understand how it feels to be different."

"And I couldn't." To her horror, she felt the warming tingle of approaching tears. "You had one date with her, Clark… _one date._ But you've known me for years. You _slept_ with me. And yet… I didn't deserve to know?" Her voice quavered dangerously.

"Please…" he pleaded. "Don't cry…"

He reached for her, but she pushed him away, shaking her head. "Just… just _don't_."

"Now do you know why I didn't tell you?" he asked. "Because I didn't want _this_ to happen. I couldn't stand the thought of you looking at me this way. With disgust. Revulsion."

"You don't get it, do you, Clark?" Lana glared at him through moist eyes. "I don't care that you're an alien. I could've lived with it. I care that you didn't _trust_ me enough to tell me. Worse, that you trusted some psychotic skank you barely knew, just because she was a freak like you."

The words slipped out before she could stop them. "Oh, God… that didn't come out right…"

"I don't think so." His eyes pierced her like blue-green daggers. "I think that came out exactly right."

A heavy, awkward silence fell over the room. It was Lana who finally broke it. "Look… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's just… you dropped a real bombshell on me tonight. You can't expect to tell me something like this and have me just take it in stride."

"I didn't. I was fully prepared for you to freak out, scream at me, hate me, whatever." But the look on his face made it clear to her that he hadn't been, not really. "You wanted the truth. Now you've got it."

She nodded, blinking rapidly in an attempt to hold back the tears. She couldn't dispute that.

He gave her a long look, anger and hurt and confusion all playing across his face at once. Then he said haltingly, "Maybe I told Alicia because I didn't love her… not the way I love you. The thought of losing you made me physically sick. It terrified me. It still does."

"But you pushed me away," Lana protested. "You lied to my face so many times."

"You think it was easy?" Clark shot back. "You think I _liked_ seeing the pain your eyes when I said I don't love you?"

"Then why did you do it?" she whispered.

"Because part of loving someone is wanting to that person to be happy… even if it means letting them go."

"But my happiness is with _you,_" she insisted.

He didn't say anything for a long time, just let out a slow, shaky breath. Finally he said, "Lana… I know it's asking a lot of you to forgive me. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. But I'm asking anyway, because I just can't stand the thought of you hating me for the rest of your life."

"I don't hate you," she said honestly. "I could never hate you, Clark… I just… I can't handle this right now."

"I understand."

Tentatively, he reached for her. His time she didn't pull away. He rested his hand on her arm, lightly tracing his finger along the inside of her elbow. That such a simple, innocuous gesture could undo her the way it did unnerved her more than anything.

"Do you forgive me?" he whispered.

She nodded, feeling the warmth of a tear as it rolled down her cheek. "I forgive you."

Tenderly he reached up, wiped the tear from her cheek with his finger. She swallowed, the lump in her throat dissolving as he traced his tear-dampened finger along her jaw. Surely he felt her shiver, saw the way his touch rapidly made her lose any semblance of her cool. She knew she was weak but God help her, everything he'd put her through seemed to drift away into the inescapable reality that despite her hurt, anger, and confusion, she still felt the same powerful draw to him. It went beyond the physical, taking her over body, mind, and soul.

"Do you still love me?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper as his breath caressed her skin.

"Always," she whispered back.

And then he was kissing her and she was kissing him back, melting into him, into the fiery passion that threatened to consume them both. Her thoughts melded together in an incoherent jumble, and part of her was still wondering just what had happened tonight. But another part of her, the one that was gradually gaining dominance, didn't care. "Make love to me, Clark," Lana said hoarsely. "One last time… before we leave."

His only response was to sweep her into his arms and carry her out of the solar, down the deserted corridor and into his room.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

The fire burned with a deep red glow as deadly as the intentions of the man who beheld it. "You have brought what I asked for, Hugh?"

"Aye. 'Tis a fine weapon, my lord."

"But of course. It has only been passed down through my family for generations." Blackwood took the dagger, ran his fingers along the flat of the gleaming blade. "My ancestor used it while battling the Saxons. It saved my grandfather's life during the second Crusade. Unfortunately, the original emerald pommel stone was lost many years ago, and when the weapon was passed on to my father he had it replaced with this." Blackwood held up the dagger, the iridescent green pommel stone glinting in the firelight.

"What is it?" Hugh asked.

"One of those odd stones at the quarry," Blackwood answered. "More simple-minded souls believe them to be evil, formed through some kind of dark magic. But my father was always fascinated by them. He was convinced they had some kind of supernatural properties."

Hugh looked skeptical. "Think you they do?"

"This dagger did keep my father from getting killed in the Holy Land." Blackwood observed the phosphorescent gleam of the stone. "Did you know De Montclair is not completely undefeated? He did lose a tournament once, many years ago."

Hugh seemed confused by the sudden change of subject. "He did, my lord?"

"Aye… he had just arrived here and had taken on Edmund of Worcestershire, the Black Knight. But for all his skill, Worcestershire was a superstitious fop. He insisted upon wearing a cross hewn of a stone he'd found as a boy, playing in the quarry. I always thought it was unusual, but I've seen sillier superstitions."

"And he was wearing the cross when he bested De Montclair."

"Aye. Of course, Worcestershire got himself killed in the Holy Land, so a lot of good it did him then."

"So think you this stone will bring you luck in fighting De Montclair?" Hugh speculated.

"I have never believed in luck." Blackwood's steely gaze fixed on his companion, who could not help but take a step backward. "All I know is that De Montclair has abilities like none I have seen on a mortal man. Whether he is a warlock or not, I know not. But wherever his powers come from, methinks he must have an Achilles heel."

Hugh frowned. "What does this have to do with the rocks?"

"Let's just say, Hugh, there is more to them than meets the eye." Blackwood dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Go now. I would like to be alone."

Hugh, still scratching his head, vacated Blackwood's chamber. Blackwood couldn't keep the grin from his face as he beheld the dancing flames. _Soon,_ he told himself. _Everything I want shall be mine. I've only to wait two more days._

Dawn found a small party of travelers gathered in the inner bailey of Bedford castle.

Clark was trying his best to stay awake. His gaze kept drifting over to Lana, and he couldn't stop the surge of affection—not to mention attraction—at the sight of her. Lord, she was such an amazing woman. And to think he'd almost lost her. Now that she knew his secret, maybe there was a chance for them after all.

The only thing marring his blissful mood was the memory of her face last night… the look of disgust and hurt and betrayal when she recalled his ill-fated liaison with Alicia, calling him a freak like her. Granted, it had been in the heat of anger and she had later apologized, but still… that look had burned itself onto his brain, and it was going to take a while before he forgot. Maybe never.

He wasn't fool enough to think that she would get over the fact that he wasn't human so easily. It would always stand between them—although last night, she didn't seem the least bit bothered by the fact that she was sleeping with an alien. In fact, she hadn't even mentioned their discussion for the remainder of the night. But then, he had made sure that the things he'd done to her left her speechless. _She still loves me,_ he told himself. _She said so. And that's all that matters… right?_

But at the moment, they unfortunately had more pressing matters to attend to. In two days he would face Blackwood. So many things rode on this battle… his pride… the fate of a kingdom… Lana.

"Good morning, everyone," a female voice spoke up cheerfully, interrupting the disturbing turn Clark's thoughts had taken. "I see I arrived just in time."

He glanced up to see a familiar, flaxen-haired figure making her way over on a palomino mare. "Gillian! What are you doing here?"

"Well, you didn't think I'd miss out on the fun, did you?" She flashed an arch smile and winked.

"Does Bedford know you're here?"

She shrugged. "He will soon."

"All right, time to shove off." Sir Pierce, a trusted friend of Bedford's whom the lord had commissioned to accompany them, rode up beside them.

The small party consisting of Pierce, two other guards, Clark, Ralph, Lana, and Gillian set out for the gate. Lana was blinking sleepily, while an ear-splitting yawn caught Clark off-guard.

"What's up with you two?" Gillian asked, dropping her voice so the men wouldn't hear her modern English. "You get any sleep last night?"

"I, um, had insomnia," Clark said.

"It's just too early in the morning," Lana chimed in. "I don't live on a farm, see, so I've no need to get up with the chickens."

"You are so going to pay for that," Clark warned her.

"Farm boy," she taunted.

"Saucy wench."

"Oh, jeez… forget I said anything." Gillian rolled her eyes as she pulled ahead of them.

The party rode all day through the woods, taking a slightly different path than the one Clark and Lana had followed. They'd veered a bit north, so they'd probably ended up taking a more circuitous route—which was just as well, since staying off the beaten path lowered the possibility of their being discovered. Now the small group followed the main road, stopping for dinner at an inn in a village. Actually, Pierce and his two cronies fetched the food and brought it out to them. "Nobleman and women rarely frequented such places," Gillian informed them. "To do so would be… how should I put it? Slumming."

"Still, it would be cool to see what it's like in there," Lana mused. "We'll never have a chance like this again."

"You aren't missing much. I imagine it'd be noisy, crowded, and dirty," Gillian said. "Mostly men and tavern wenches."

After dinner, they continued until they came upon a large stone building, not quite the magnitude of a castle, but sprawling and sizeable. It turned out to be the monastery of St. Ignatius, where they took a humble supper with the monks and spent the night. Here, they separated, the men staying on one side of the dormitories, the women on the other.

Lana and Gillian shared a tiny chamber, sparsely furnished save for a cot, table, and chamber pot. But Lana was grateful for the company. At night, the monastery was so dark and utterly silent it was creepy. There was nary a torch burning in the long corridor, no night guards wandering about outside. Lana had never been so glad to see the sun.

The following day consisted of more of the same. They spent the following night at the manor of a lesser baron and his wife. The lord and lady were most gracious in accommodating them. The guests were served a frugal but delicious supper and were promptly escorted to their quarters by servants. Their hosts even offered to have a bath prepared to "wash off the dust of travel."

"Oh, man, a bath sounds _nice,_" Gillian remarked.

"I know," Lana agreed. "Funny, I heard medieval people never bathed, but as long as we've been here, it seems they do quite often."

"What you heard is a myth. Although peasants didn't bathe, nobles did. A bath was considered a luxury. In fact, bath houses existed in many towns, although they were often a front for more… unseemly activities."

"What do you—ohhh," Lana said, catching on.

Later that evening found Lana relaxing in the tub, grateful to be in a more comfortable and welcoming place than the monastery. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, counteracting the cold draftiness of the keep. The keep was considerably smaller than that of Langdon or Bedford, but it also felt more like a home, in the modern sense of the word. Unfortunately, there weren't very many rooms, so the women all shared a room while the men shared another. Lana couldn't help but feel disappointed. It was the last night before his duel, and she wished she could have spent it with Clark.

Worry over Clark's fate kept her from enjoying the bath. As the day drew closer, the cold knot of dread in her stomach grew tighter and tighter. Learning of his special abilities should have reassured her, but it did not. She knew what was going to happen, and the knowledge cast a pall over any hope she might have held. If the evidence—Kendrick's mythological reputation, Lianne's memories—could be trusted, Kendrick likely came from the same place Clark did. And he clearly wasn't invincible. Whatever weakness Kendrick had, Blackwood must've known about it.

And Clark probably had it, too.

Lana was so caught up in her thoughts that she barely noticed the creak of the door and subsequent footfalls on the floor. It was probably Mary, the maid sent to attend her. "I've not finished yet, Mary," Lana said.

"It isn't Mary."

The rich, velvety male voice triggered an acute physical awareness she was surprised she hadn't sensed before "Clark, you can't be here," Lana murmured. "What if someone catches you?"

"No one's around. The lord and lady are asleep, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of the few servants they have."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Are you crazy?"

"Lana, I have to spend the night with a bunch of men who probably haven't had a bath in months. Take pity on me."

"You really are crazy," she concluded, ducking her head with hopes he wouldn't see her flushed cheeks. "How can you think about… you know… at a time like this?"

"I think of it as my good-luck charm." He traced a finger along the line of her shoulder, leaving a rash of tingles in its wake.

"How can you be so glib?" she asked, trying to ignore the leisurely path his finger was taking along her collarbone. "What if the story comes true? Clark, it took going back 800 years and nearly getting killed on several occasions for us to find each other again. I can't lose you. Not now."

"You won't." He tipped her chin up, forced her to look in his eyes. "I'm going to settle this once and for all, Lana… we're going to give Lianne and Kendrick the happy ending they deserved. And then our work will be done, and we can go back to our own time."

"But how can you be so sure?" she whispered. "I know about your abilities but Kendrick had them, too. Blackwood still defeated him. Do you have some kind of weakness I don't know about?"

He hesitated, his silence assuring her that it was indeed the case. "You know those meteor rocks?"

"Yeah." A look of recognition dawned across her face. "That's it, isn't it? Your Achilles heel."

He nodded. "They make me sick. It gets worse the longer I'm exposed to them."

"Oh…." It explained so much. "My necklace… is that why you always acted like such a spaz around me?"

He looked mildly embarrassed. "Well, yeah."

"And here I was, thinking my charms made you weak in the knees."

"Well, that, too."

She had to smile, but the smile quickly collapsed under the weight of their predicament. "Clark, what if Blackwood knows? What if he plans to use one of those rocks against you?"

"How would he know about them?" Clark reasoned.

"He must've found out somehow. How else would he have defeated Kendrick?"

He was silent a moment, thinking. "You have a point."

"I can't let you face him," Lana said resolutely. "Not if he knows your weakness."

"But we have no choice," Clark told her. "We came all this way… one way or another, I have to finish this thing."

"Not at the expense of your life, you don't!" Her voice was growing shrill. "Don't you care?"

"Of course I care," he answered. "But what can I do? If he knows, he knows… we'll just have to work around it."

Lana couldn't believe what she was hearing. "That's it? That's your plan?"

"It's not like I'm going there alone," he reminded her. "If something goes wrong, you'll be there."

"But I don't know much about fighting," she protested. "I can't hold my own against Blackwood."

"Lana, you're stronger than you know. Smarter. You'll think of something. I trust you."

He leaned over the side of the tub, squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. Could it be that the one who had saved her so many times was now trusting her with his life? She wished she could believe in herself the way he seemed to believe in her. "I'm afraid," she confessed.

"That's OK. I'm afraid, too."

"You don't seem like it."

"Courage doesn't mean the absence of fear, it means the ability to act in spite of it… or something like that," Clark quoted. "I don't remember who said that."

"Neither do I," Lana admitted. "But I like it." She reached up, clasped her damp fingers around his. "It's so hard for me to just go on faith like that."

"I know… but sometimes you have no choice."

She was silent for a moment, running her fingers over the back of his hand. "I keep worrying that one day we'll try to cheat fate too many times… that it's going to catch up with us."

"Then here's hoping we've got one more chance."

She leaned up to look at him, and any reply she might have given was cut off as he captured her lips in lingering, stingingly sweet kiss. She reached up, cupped the back of his head with her hand, holding him to her as the kiss deepened. If only they could stay like this. If only they could skip over tomorrow and know they were safe and sound. "Come in here with me," she whispered when they pulled apart.

"I thought you'd never ask." He quickly shed his garments and joined her in the tub. She took the bar of soap from the small table next to the tub and began to wash him, her soap-slick hands sliding sensually over corded muscle and smooth, bronzed skin. She soaped his shoulders, inhaled his fresh, clean scent and felt the whisper of his breath against her cheek. She turned at the same time he did, their lips brushing in the briefest and lightest of kisses. A jolt of electricity raced through her from just that light touch, and it was all she could do resume her task of washing him. As it was, it was difficult to ignore the way his body seemed to tighten and tense under her touch.

There was no ignoring the heat in his eyes when she finished, though. She'd seen that look before, the raw hunger that never failed to send a thrill coursing through her. But something else flickered in his eyes, something dark and shadowy that frightened her as much as it attracted her. Yet she came to him, knowing she could never truly be afraid of him. Even at his darkest—which he still hadn't bothered to explain, but probably had something to do with his extraterrestrial status—he had a powerful pull over her. Despite all his lies, manipulation, and general jerkhood, she'd seen that beneath the façade was a tormented young man desperate to escape from something she could never truly understand. And as much as he tried to push her away, he needed her. He needed her acceptance and her love. She was his anchor to the only world he had ever known, a world he could never truly be a part of. Alien or not, he was more human than he realized.

And in that moment, it became crystal-clear what he needed from her. "I love you, Clark," she whispered. "Everything about you. Nothing could ever change that… you know that, right?"

She gazed into his eyes, hoping he could see what she was thinking but found so difficult to adequately express with words. "I know," he whispered back. He leaned toward her, tugged comb from her hair to release the heavy dark mass. Drops of water clung to the face-framing strands as he pushed them back, brushed his lips lightly across her smooth forehead, damp lashes and lightly flushed cheeks. She lifted her face for a kiss on the lips but he denied her, concentrating instead on trailing a line of kisses down her neck, across her shoulder, at the tender hollow at the indentation in her collarbone. A soft sigh issued from her lips as blissful sensation washed over her. Meanwhile, his hand skimmed the inside of her thigh, trailing higher until she unconsciously arched toward him. But he denied her the touch she burned for and continued to caress her body, purposely avoiding the hot spots.

Just when she was sure she couldn't take it anymore, his hand at last found the spot that throbbed for his touch. The sensation so intense that she nearly slid beneath the water, if not for the fact that he was holding her up. His fingers began to work the soft folds of flesh he was already so intimately acquainted with, knowing just how to touch her and where. She couldn't hold back her low moan as a long finger eased inside of her, then two, stroking deeply, the sensation building and building until he brought her to the brink of climax. Her muscles began to pulse and tighten around his fingers as her body strained toward him… and then he pulled away.

Lana bit back an audible protest—not that she could have made one, since Clark's mouth covered hers not a second later. Her back thumped against the wall of the tub, water sloshing over the edge. Soap, scented oils, and a towel went flying aside as he hoisted her onto the table. Cold air rushed over her damp skin, raising a rash of goose bumps, but she barely noticed them. Enveloped in a haze of heady sensation, she looped her slender arms about his waist and pulled her to him, feeling the considerable bulge of his erection as it pressed her sensitive flesh.

"I want you now," she said breathlessly. "Whether you like it or not."

He grinned, his eyes gleaming like dark emeralds in the firelight. "Saucy wench."

"You know you like it."

He didn't answer except to take her mouth in a fiery kiss, inhaling her gasp as he pushed inside of her. Good Lord, she was practically going to climax right then, her muscles already tightening about his hard, thick length. He pulled out of her, coming only partway in before he pulled out again and then filled her in a single deep thrust. He continued this pattern, alternating light strokes with deep thrusts and prolonging the inevitable as long as possible. Being perpetually kept on the brink was both frustrating and ungodly erotic, to the point that it almost overwhelmed her. Lana locked her legs around Clark's waist, trying to pull him in deeper. She wanted to feel all of him, to be as close to him as she could. For this moment he was hers alone, and nothing could take him from her.

She looked at his face to find his jaw clamped tightly in an effort to maintain control, denying his own pleasure in order to prolong hers. She wanted to break that control, to see him lose himself inside of her with the same helpless abandon that he seemed to inspire in her. She began to move with him, causing the table to shake and more water to splash onto the floor. A few more deep thrusts and her climax slammed into her with bone-melting force, white-hot sensation blazing through her veins and igniting a series of exquisite tremors all through her body. Her fingers raked into his back while the last aftershocks of pleasure wracked her body, fading just as his carefully held control finally snapped. With a jerk and a shudder, he spent himself inside of her, falling limply into her arms afterward.

Lana cradled Clark against her, their bodies still slick with sweat and bathwater. Droplets of water clung to his silky dark hair, which tickled her cheek. Dear God, she loved him so much. How was she ever supposed to live without him?

She remembered the tormented look in his eyes when he confessed to her that night in Bedford, the way he made love to her tonight, with an almost desperate abandon, as though he feared it might be the last time. _He's saved me so many times,_ she reflected. But maybe he was the one who needed saving this time.


	21. Chapter Twentyone

Chapter Twenty-one

The day dawned chilly and gray, a heavy mist blanketing the forest as a small party made its way to the lists outside of Langdon castle. Clark, Lana, and Ralph comprised the group. Clark had convinced Gillian to remain at the manor with Pierce, in case Blackwood tried to pull something, but not without staunch resistance. It was only after he told her that she was the only one smart enough to know what to do should something go wrong that she finally relented.

Although she understood Clark's logic, Lana would have been grateful for Gillian's company. She hadn't realized how much she'd come to value the older girl's knowledge, and not just about medieval times. Gillian was always so logical and level-headed. If she was afraid, she'd learned to master it, whereas the cold knot of dread in Lana's stomach pulled tighter and tighter the closer they drew to Langdon.

Soon the battle-ravaged castle towered above them in injured glory as the first pale rays of the sun peeked out from between the clouds. The mist had begun to clear somewhat, but still lent an ominous, otherworldly feel to the place. Lana felt an odd tug in her heart, seeing the once-proud castle that had been her home if only for two weeks, now occupied by Blackwood's men. Her gaze roamed over to the lists, where a lone figure stood in proud defiance.

Blackwood.

The air suddenly felt thick and stifling, the tension was almost palpable. Clark dismounted, holding up a hand as a warning to Lana to stay back. She did, watching with her heart in her throat as Clark strode up to Blackwood with Ralph in tow.

"This ends today, Blackwood," he said levelly.

The other man merely gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. "I see you've brought my prize. 'Twill make it that much easier for me to collect her after you fall."

"You shall never have her," Clark vowed.

"We shall see about that." Blackwood's lips curved up in a humorless smile. "Now enough with the pleasantries, De Montclair. Let us begin."

Steel whistled through the air as both men drew their swords. Lana's breath hitched her throat as she observed Blackwood's sword, and released it in a whoosh upon seeing no glowing green pommel stone. Her relief was short-lived, however, as the clash of metal against metal brought home with full force what was happening here.

_It seems like a dream, _she thought in a daze, watching as the two men engaged in what was clearly a fight to the death. All for her. Their blades whizzed through the air in a silvery blur, clashing and clanging in a dance both captivating and deadly in its grace. Blackwood moved with an almost feline agility, clearly a seasoned fighter. But Clark held his own, driven by a force that went beyond pride or even self-preservation. Lana wondered briefly if he planned upon using his powers. She hoped he would, but she had the sneaking suspicion that he was far too chivalrous to claim victory in anything but a fair fight.

Would that she could say the same for Blackwood.

Clark and Blackwood's blades clashed and locked, their faces ending up inches apart. Blackwood smiled, eyes alight with a wicked gleam. "You're good, De Montclair. But can you hold your own against an expert swordsman?"

"Show me an expert swordsman and we'll see," Clark taunted. He dodged aside with lighting quickness and Blackwood moved in for another attack, recovering quickly and attacking the man's vulnerable side. Blackwood gasped as a red stain slowly spread across the left side of his tunic.

"I may not be an expert swordsman," Clark said, "but I know my strengths."

"Fencing is not merely technique," Blackwood retorted. "It's knowing your opponent. sensing his weakness. predicting his next move." He expertly blocked Clark's attack and lunged, catching the other man full in the side. Lana shrieked, her hands flying to her face. But to her shock, no spreading crimson stain appeared. In fact, Clark looked completely unharmed.

Blackwood stared, eyes wide. His mouth fell open but no sound came out, as his energies were immediately diverted when Clark lunged. He fought with a furious, almost frantic energy, taking full advantage of Blackwood's temporary confusion. He succeeded in driving the man back, attacking mercilessly, allowing his opponent no chance to breathe or regain his composure. Blackwood sensed himself losing ground, and fought valiantly to regain the upper hand. But his efforts were too little, too late, and it wasn't long before Clark succeeded in twisting his blade and disarming him.

"It ends now, Blackwood," he declared. "You shall leave the lady in peace. or I swear I will kill you."

"You should never have let me live, De Montclair," was the other man's response, his cool unfaltering despite his imminent defeat. What transpired next probably occurred in the span of a second or two, but the whole thing seemed to pass in sickening slow motion as Lana looked on. Before Clark could deal the final blow Blackwood reached into his belt, whipped out a dagger, and lunged. Lana caught the phosphorescent gleam of green and screamed, but it was already too late. She could only stare in horror as the dagger found its mark, and Clark staggered backward with an expression of shock and agony etched across his features.

Ralph rushed to his knight's side, but too late. Blackwood seized the opportunity to snatch up his sword. He raised it, pausing briefly to savor the moment before dealing the final blow. "_No!_" A feminine scream rent the air as metal crashed against metal, the force of the blow reverberating through Lana like an echo. Blackwood gazed in disbelief at the woman standing before him, her lover's sword clutched tightly in her small hands while her eyes burned with the fire of a fierce battle-maid.

"You took my family," she said, her voice dangerously low. "You took my home. You'll not take my love, my heart!"

Blackwood gave a contemptuous sniff. "You were part of the bargain, _my lady_," he said mockingly. "You are mine now."

"Never!" She brandished the sword threateningly. "As long as I've breath in my body, I shall never belong to you!"

"Foolish wench!" He advanced toward her, her eyes gleaming with deadly intent. "Think you can stop me?"

"You'll not kill me," she retorted. "You haven't the gall."

"Do not press your luck," he warned. "I've seen men beg for mercy before my blade. But you're right; I'd rather keep you alive long enough to wed you and perhaps sire an heir. You can come willingly, or I can make your life a living hell. Either way, I shall possess you."

"I belong to Kendrick alone," she shot back.

Rage burned in Blackwood's eyes, belying his finely honed veneer of cool. "I'm sure his final thoughts are with you as the life slowly drains from his body."

Galvanized into action, Lana backed warily away, still gripping the sword, before dropping to her knees next to Clark. Tears sprung to her eyes as a wave of nausea swept over her. Oh, God. there was so much blood, so much blood. it stained the skirt of her fine rose-colored gown as she bent over him, smoothed his hair back from his ashen forehead. Her vision blurred as the tears spilled over, one falling to his tunic and spreading in a small, dark stain.

"Don't leave me," she begged, her voice breaking. "Don't leave me alone, Kendrick. _Clark_."

He drew a ragged breath. "Lana. the knife.."

Her eye fell upon the dagger protruding from his stomach. "I can't take it out. You'll bleed to death."

He tried to say something else but she shook her head, tenderly touched her fingers to his lips. "Shhh. don't talk. It's OK." She tried to smile, tears falling freely down her cheeks. "I love you."

She bent down, pressed her lips to his. They felt cool and frail, barely a whisper of breath issuing from between them. Her tears fell onto his cheek, moistened the hand that she had pressed there. "You don't have to say anything," she whispered, her voice quavering. "I know."

She cradled him to her, reeling from the shock, positive that the wrenching, all-consuming pain within her was her heart breaking. _I brought him here,_ she thought, unable to stop the tears. _This is all my fault._

She saw the flicker of a shadow as Blackwood drew closer to her. Quick as a flash she snatched up the sword, pointing it at him. "Don't you come near me," she snarled. "You will burn in hell for what you've done this day!"

Blackwood shrugged. "If anyone is to blame for his death, 'tis you, my lady. Had you come to me without resistance, your lover would be alive now."

He never got to finish his thought. Lana was on her feet, slashing at him frantically, her eyes alight with grief and rage and hysteria. She managed to get a couple of good blows in before two of Blackwood's men arrived, seizing her and half-carrying, half-dragging her away from their lord. It took them a few moments to divest her of the sword, and not before she was able to do considerable damage. Ralph jumped wholeheartedly into the fray, but it wasn't long before Blackwood's men subdued him as well. But Lana refused to submit. Even with her weapon gone, she fought and kicked so ferociously her leather boot pierced one man's hose and actually drew blood.

Cursing violently, the knight twisted her arm behind her back until she cried out in pain. "Vile wench! God knows why you want her, my lord."

"She's a feisty one, isn't she?" Blackwood grinned triumphantly. "She will bear me strong sons."

"Murderous bastard!" she cursed. "Wretched whoreson! I shall do nothing of the kind!"

Blackwood sighed. "Will one of you please subdue her? I can't take this noise anymore."

Lana continued to fight and kick as one of her captors pressed a foul-smelling rag to her nose. But as much as she tried to resist, it wasn't long until dark spots danced before her eyes, spreading and spreading until she sank into darkness.

While the men were busy subduing the lady, Ralph saw his chance. He raised his foot and brought it down as hard as he could upon his captor's, whirling around in time to smack his palm against the underside of his captor's nose as hard as he could, just as Kendrick had taught him. The blow, the knight had said, would incapacitate a man long enough for him to run.

Which was precisely what he did. While his captor uttered a string or curses so foul Lucifer himself would have flinched, Ralph hightailed it into the woods. He ran and ran, twigs and leaves scratching his hands and face while he thrashed clumsily through the underbrush. Dimly he heard Blackwood saying, "Let him go. There's naught the whelp can do against us, anyway."

Ralph hid behind a tree, waiting as Blackwood's men carried the lady away. Tears of sorrow stung his pale blue eyes at the sight. He hadn't enough courage or strength to save the lady. Worse yet, he hadn't even been able to save his knight.

He raced back to the lists, kneeling beside Kendrick's fallen form. He began to cry hysterically then, wiping his tears with the sleeve his tunic while he bent over his fallen hero. "Sir Kendrick," he entreated. "If there is anything I can do. anything at all.."

The man in question drew a shallow breath, mustering all of his energy to say, "Ralph. the knife.."

"I know, I know," Ralph sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I tried to stop him. it all happened so quickly.."

He watched immobilized as Kendrick raised a trembling hand, weakly tried to grasp the hilt of the dagger. "The dagger."

Ralph finally understood. "If I take it out, you'll bleed to death."

"Just do it," Kendrick rasped. "Now."

The look in his eyes told Ralph not to argue. Gulping, the boy seized the hilt of the dagger and wrenched it free. Tossing it aside, he hunched over Kendrick once more. "I tried to help. really I did. but what could I do against all of his men.."

Blinking rapidly, Kendrick labored to raise his head. Ralph immediately moved to assist him. Strangely enough, the color was returning to the knight's face, and his breathing settled into a deeper, more regular pattern. When he looked up at the squire, his eyes had lost that glazed look and instead sparked with irritation. "By the saints, boy, are you daft?" he choked. His voice was still faint but rapidly growing in strength. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. I ought to tan your arse when we get home.."

"Sir Kendrick! You're all right!" Ralph threw his skinny arms about the knight's neck, nearly choking him.

"Blood of Christ, I can't breathe!"

"Sorry, sorry," said Ralph solicitously. His eye fell upon Kendrick's wound, which no longer seemed to be bleeding profusely. In fact, it didn't appear to be bleeding at all. "Amazing," he murmured. He regarded the knight with round eyes. "You really are a warlock, aren't you?"

Kendrick didn't answer. "Where did they take the lady?"

"I assume back to Blackwood. They subdued her, sir. Likely with hemlock or mandrake, judging by the smell of it.."

Kendrick's eyes opened wide. "Poison?"

"Nay, sir. just enough to make her sleep." Ralph looked bewildered. "Blackwood wouldn't kill her. He needs her alive, at least till he weds her."

Fury blazed in Kendrick's eyes upon hearing that. "I'm going after her."

"Wait!" Ralph scrambled to his feet, watching in amazement as the knight stood up. "Sir, you were just stabbed in the gut!"

"I'll be fine," Kendrick brushed him off. "Ralph, are you going to help me or not?"

The squire was still at a loss for words when the sound of hooves pounding the forest floor caught his attention. He and Kendrick looked up to see a golden palomino galloping through the forest, a woman astride it. At her back was Sir Pierce, riding a destrier.

"I got here as fast as I could," Lady Anne announced, pulling her mount to a halt. Her eyes widened upon beholding the knight. "Dear God, what happened to you?"

"Nothing a little dark magic can't fix," Kendrick said disingenuously. "I'm fine, Lady Anne. Right now, we need to find your kinswoman. Blackwood has kidnapped her!"

Lady Anne's odd-colored eyes darkened. "That God-cursed swine! 'Tis time for a good old fashioned arse-kicking, I say."

"Aye." A look of steely resolve came over Kendrick's face. "Shall we be off to Blackwood now?"

"Let us stop at the manor first for some weapons. We'll formulate a plan on the way."

"Sounds good to me." Kendrick made for his mount, not appearing injured at all.

"Are you sure you're all right?" the lady asked. "I insist upon seeing that wound."

"There's not much to see," said Kendrick awkwardly, but Anne would hear none of it. She dismounted and caught up with him, pausing to touch her hand to his blood-stained tunic. Her eyes widened as she lifted the fabric to reveal smooth, unbroken skin. "Holy sh--that is amazing."

"Are you really a warlock, sir?" asked Ralph in amazement.

"Don't go spreading it around. I've no intention of burning at the stake," Kendrick muttered, hastily stepping away from Anne. "Now are we going to stand here debating or are we going to rescue the lady?"

Anne nodded, heading back toward her mount. "We've lost enough time as it is. Let's go."

She swung astride her mount while Kendrick and Ralph quickly followed suit. The squire could only stare in confusion at the knight as they galloped through the forest, unable to digest the events of this morning. Kendrick truly was everything they said him to be a fearless fighter, superhuman in his abilities.

Ralph only hoped it was enough to rescue the lady before it was too late.


	22. Chapter Twentytwo

Chapter Twenty-two

Lana awoke in a dark, dank room, the air reeking of mildew and neglect. Her head was pounding and her mouth felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton balls. Groaning, she slowly raised herself to a sitting position. She was lying on a rough straw mattress, the room's only other contents being a table and a chamber pot. A single high, unglazed window let in a weak shaft of sunlight. She staggered to her feet, a wave of dizziness causing her to stumble and fall back down on the bed. She sat for a moment, trying to clear her head.

"I see that you've awakened."

Lana's head jerked up as the door opened and a figure strode in. Her stomach heaved at the sight of Blackwood, but she refused to show any kind of weakness.

"Your humor shall improve soon enough," he said. "'Twas only a bit of mandrake, enough to make you more cooperative." He held out a beaker of water. "Drink."

She would sooner swallow nails than accept charity from him, but she needed her strength, so she accepted the beaker and downed its contents. Her head slowly began to clear. She did not speak, only fixed him with a stare that could never do justice to the contempt, revulsion, and rage that burned within her.

"I have spoken to Father Martin. We will be wed on the morrow. Until then, you will remain in this tower chamber under close supervision." He sighed, shaking his head. "I hate to keep you imprisoned, my lady, but I do not trust you not to do anything foolish, like escape."

"I'll never marry you," she vowed.

"At this point, it seems you haven't a choice in the matter," was his crisp reply. "You will become my wife on the morrow, and I expect you to willingly fulfill your. duties that eve."

"I would rather die," Lana spat out.

"A man needs an heir," Blackwood went on, as though she hadn't spoken. "Consider yourself lucky I will still have you. You may have beauty and fortune, but so do many other maids, and most men would be hard-pressed to marry a fallen woman who could well be carrying De Montclair's bastard whelp."

Despite her dizziness, Lana leapt to her feet. "Better his bastard child than any spawn of yours!"

A swift blow to her face sent her reeling. Her hand flew to her cheek, her fingers encountering a swollen lip while the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

"Need I remind you that you are my property now?" Blackwood said contemptuously. "I will not tolerate such insolence from my wife. Give me any more, and I shall beat you as I see fit."

Lana forced herself to ignore the stinging pain in her split lip. "You'll never get away with this."

"It appears I already have." A malevolent smile spread across his features. "Who will come for you now, Lianne? Kendrick?"

Grief and rage welled up in a hot, blinding haze. Were she not so weak, she might have flown at him as she had at the lists. However, she did muster up the energy to spit on his embroidered tunic.

A moment later she was sprawled out on the bed, Blackwood's form towering above her. "I've half a mind to take what is mine now," he growled. "De Montclair might have had you first, but I will possess you for the rest of your days."

Lana gulped, knowing she hadn't the strength yet to fight back. But to her surprise he drew back, his eyes dark with the deadly promise of what was in store for her. "But alas, I will not have my heir sired this way. You will come to me willingly soon enough."

He backed off, making his way toward her door. The encounter had drained Lana of what little energy she had, and she remained huddled on the bed. "Never," she managed to whisper.

Her defiance had no effect on Blackwood as he left the room. But once he was gone, the façade quickly crumbled as fear, grief, and despair took over. Clark was gone, and it was all her fault. She was alone. It looked like they'd finally tempted fate one too many times.

She collapsed onto the bed and wept bitter tears.

Clark and Gillian passed much of the journey to Blackwood bickering over strategy. Ralph had insisted upon coming along, despite Clark's order to stay at the manor. He was pretty much ignored while the other two argued. The only thing they could agree upon was that Blackwood was going to do a thing that puzzled Ralph greatly--something the lady referred to as "catching a beat down."

"They have some strange speech in Brittany," the squire muttered.

Sir Pierce and his cronies were ordered to stay outside of the castle as backup, should something happen to them. "'Twill be easier to sneak in with less of us," Clark told them.

Gillian had swapped her gown for a pair of hose and a tunic borrowed from Ralph. The knights were scandalized that a lady would disguise herself as a boy attempt such a mission, but few crossed Lady Anne. "She is my kinswoman and friend. I am going in and you'll not stop me," she said in a tone that left no room for argument.

It wasn't until the small party had nearly come upon Blackwood that Clark and Gillian finally settled upon a plan. They both spotted a peddler's wagon at the same time, and simultaneously made for it. Throwing quick glances at each other, they nodded their mutual acknowledgment of the plan before putting it into action.

"Excuse me, sir, but we're going to have to borrow your wagon," Clark said to the peddler, pulling up beside him.

The middle-aged man frowned. "What say you?"

"'Twill only be for a little while. Now if you'd kindly vacate this wagon, we'd be most gratified."

The man's bloodshot eyes bulged. "Routers!" he cried, fumbling for his dagger. "You'll not take my wares, you bloody swine!"

"I assure you, we aren't routers," said Clark blandly. "And would you cease with waving that blade in front of my face? 'Tis most unnerving."

"Why, these are rather pretty," Gillian remarked, holding up a pair of gleaming gold earrings. "How much do you want for them?"

The peddler turned to her, bewilderment written across his ruddy face. Clark seized the opportunity to knock him out with a swift smack upside the head, using his super strength. The peddler instantly crumpled in an ungainly heap.

"You didn't hurt him, did you?" Gillian asked.

Clark shook his head. "He'll have a bit of a headache when he wakes up, but he should be fine." He felt bad about having to knock the guy out, but they really had no choice if they wanted to save Lana.

Clark and Gillian dragged the senseless man from the wagon and turned to Ralph. "Got any experience driving a wagon?" Clark asked.

Ralph shook his head.

"Well, you're about to. Get on."

Ralph scrambled onto the wagon, pulling up the hood of his tunic to hide his face. Gillian and Clark scrambled into the back, where they huddled among the peddler's wares. "Man, this guy's got some choice stuff. check this out." Gillian grinned, holding up a finely crafted gold crucifix. "Maybe I'll leave some coins for him. ooh, look at this bracelet. It totally goes with this velvet blazer I have back home, you know, like a knockoff of that Yves St. Laurent one Sarah Jessica Parker was wearing at some premiere or something."

"Gillian, if you're not going to find anything useful, could you leave the fashion commentary to Joan Rivers?" Clark asked. He'd managed to stumble upon the man's storehouse of weapons. "Here."

He passed Gillian a crossbow and helped himself to jeweled dagger. And he did leave a handful of coins in the back of the wagon for the peddler to find.

Gillian had to grin. "Lana wasn't kidding. You're more chivalrous than half the knights around here."

He shrugged. "I figure if we're going to knock him out and borrow his stuff, we should at least leave a tip."

They passed through Blackwood's main gate without incident. Once inside the outer bailey, they concocted a plan to rescue Lana. "First, we find out where Blackwood's keeping her," Gillian said. "I suggest we split up. Then one of us will have the other's back while we rescue her."

"You and Ralph go after Lana," Clark told her. Grim resolve gleamed in his eyes. "Leave Blackwood to me."

It was amazing what a good cry could do to clear one's head. Lana wiped the tears with her sleeve, the despair that had overwhelmed her earlier hardening into grim resolve. She knew what Clark would've wanted her to do. He'd want her to escape, to make it back to the twenty-first century, to live. for him.

Blinking back tears as she fingered Isolde's necklace, she knew she would always cherish the memory of what they had shared. She now understood the pain Lianne must have felt, and how much strength and courage she'd needed to go on. She only hoped she would inherit some of that courage along with the woman's memories.

Lana rose to her feet, scanning the room for something she might use as a weapon. Her search came up dismally short--what could she do, knock out a guard with a chamber pot? She decided to try a different tack. Pushing the table below the window, she climbed on top to look out. The sight that greeted her made her gulp. A sheer drop of thirty feet or so awaited her on the other side, with naught but a narrow ledge standing between her and the floor of the inner bailey. The roof of the keep stood about ten feet down, off to her right.

_Oh, Lord._ To pull this off was going to require some ingenuity. If she could get onto the ledge, perhaps she could make her way along the tower and from there, jump to the roof of the keep. Maybe then she could find a way into the building. The mere thought of climbing out that window made her dizzy, but it was the only chance she had.

Scrambling onto the sill, she drew a shaky breath and vowed not to look down. _God, give me courage,_ she prayed. Ever so slowly, she climbed out of the window onto the ledge below. Her heart was racing so quickly she thought it would surely leap out of her chest. Slowly, painstakingly, she crept along the ledge, until the roof of the keep appeared below her. She swallowed over a dry throat, steeling herself for the ten-foot drop. This very moment might be her last.

But then, what else was available to her? A life as Blackwood's wife?

She jumped. The roof of the keep slammed into her with a force that drove the very breath from her lungs. A moment passed before she recovered, staggering to her feet on the flat stone surface. Lana surveyed her surroundings, wondering if there was any kind of roof access from the keep. Relief flooded her when she spotted a door leading into the tower. She walked over and tried the door tentatively. To her surprise, it opened.

She peeked in slowly, praying to God no guard was standing nearby. A sigh of relief issued from her lips upon beholding a deserted staircase. She crept down the stairs, her boots making no sound on the worn stone. Upon reaching the landing she scanned the dimly lit corridor, making sure the coast was clear. Then she stealthily slipped from the cover of the shadows.

Unfortunately, Lana had made it barely a few paces down the hall when the sound of heavy footfalls made her freeze in her tracks. She dove into an alcove, but too late. "Who goes there?" a male voice shouted, the footsteps drawing closer.

Shit. Lana opted for the only choice available to her--she fled into the nearest room.

Not the best idea, seeing how it was currently occupied by one of Blackwood's knights. His eyes widened at the sight of her. "The prisoner has escaped!"

He lunged at her. Frantically scanning the room for any kind of weapon, she seized the bottle of wine mulling by the fire and smashed it over his head. He cursed foully as the hot liquid flowed into his eyes, but it did not stop his advance. Lana's eye fell upon the tray of food on the table and the sharp carving knife lying next to it. She snatched up the knife and struck out as the man seized her.

She shrieked as they fell in a heap on the floor, his heavy weight pinning her down. She looked up into a pair of glazed, sightless eyes, blood flowing freely from the front of his tunic onto her gown. She shoved him away, fighting back a tide of nausea at the sight of the knife protruding from his stomach.

Oh, God, I killed him.. Her stomach heaved and she was sure she was going to throw up. But there was no time to gather her bearings as the second knight, the one who had spotted her in the hall, barged into the room. She grabbed a chair and threw it at him, distracting him long enough for her to snatch up her fallen assailant's sword and hightail it out the door.

It was a good thing she was on the cross country team, because her running skills were definitely going to come in handy. She thundered down the stairs, not sure where she was going or what she was going to do, just that she somehow had to get away.

It was going to take a miracle to pull this one off.

Ralph rather clumsily steered the wagon among the merchants' booths set up in the outer bailey. They would have to sneak in on market day. Gillian tucked her braid under the hood of her tunic, while Clark donned a traveling cloak he found among the peddler's wares. Once the wagon came to a stop, they surreptitiously hopped out of the wagon and began making their way to the keep. That it was market day actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for it was easy to blend in with the crowd.

Getting into the keep was another matter. "Ralph and I can attempt to pass for squires," Gillian said discreetly to Clark. "We can create a distraction while you sneak in."

Clark nodded his acknowledgment. With Ralph in tow, Gillian strode through the door of the Great Hall as nonchalantly as though she'd always been there. Unfortunately, she and Ralph did not go unnoticed by the guard. "You're a bit early for dinner," he remarked. "Did you two sneak out of squire practice?"

"We're finished," said Gillian casually. "And we're not early for dinner. You're late."

The guard scowled. "You've got a lot of cheek, lad. Were you not taught to mind your tongue around your superiors?"

"If I were you I'd save my energy for pressing matters than questioning a couple of squires," Gillian returned. "You never know who might be mounting a rescue mission for Lady Lianne."

The guard was getting ticked. "Why, I ought to personally teach you some respect, boy. hey, wait a minute." A look of recognition dawned across his swarthy face. "You're no squire! You're Lady Anne of--"

The rest of his sentence dissolved into an incoherent grunt as he immediately crumpled to the floor. Clark stood behind him, having knocked someone out for the second time that day. Gillian regarded him with wide, grateful eyes. "Dang, you lift weights or something?"

"You'd be surprised at what baling hay for hours does for one's arms," he said dryly. "Come on. let's make ourselves scarce before his friends show up."

"Good call." The three of them slipped out of the great hall and ducked into a corridor, pausing when they heard voices around the bend. Gillian peered into the nearest room and finding it empty, signaled Clark and Ralph to follow her inside.

The voices turned out to be those of a pair of servants, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Clark, Gillian, and Ralph found themselves in Blackwood's treasury. But before resuming their search for Lana, Gillian couldn't help herself--her eye fell upon a breviary lying upon Blackwood's desk.

"Is that the one that was stolen from Langdon?" Ralph asked.

Gillian shook her head. "Nay. But I'm thinking there's more to this one than meets the eye."

Snatching up the volume, she slashed neatly at the binding. "Bingo!" she said, extracting a piece of parchment.

Clark and Ralph looked on as Gillian scanned the missive. Her face grew pale as she read.

"What is it?" Clark asked.

"Dear God," Gillian murmured. "I knew it! Blackwood is our mole. He's been leaking information to Philip's men. He has agreed to return Henry's lands in exchange for a title in France. This is new correspondence from abroad."

"Can we take it to the king?" Ralph wanted to know.

"I don't think so," a new voice spoke up from the doorway. With a sickening drop in her stomach Gillian turned around to behold a tall figure standing before them, clutching a sword. "I've no idea how you got into this castle, my lady, but 'tis a shame one so beautiful is also so foolish. I'm afraid you leave me no choice but to kill you."

"I doubt that." Clark shed his cloak and stepped forward, drawing his sword. "I've been waiting for this since the day I met you, Hugh."

Hugh's expression quickly went from menace to shock. "Dear God," he gasped. "'Tis true! You really are a warlock!"

"Don't worry, sir. When I kick your arse, 'twill be without the aid of black magic."

"We'll see about that." His beady eyes narrowed. "I should've known someone would make an ill-fated attempt to rescue the lady. But no matter, if my lord couldn't kill you, then I will."

Clark was unfazed. Hugh should be easy enough to dispense with. It was then he noticed that Hugh was not alone. Two more knights materialized behind him, drawing their swords and wearing murderous expressions. Even more footsteps sounded in the hall when Hugh shouted, "Guards! We have intruders!"

Gillian gulped. The only way out of the treasury was to get past them. They were trapped!


	23. Chapter Twentythree

Chapter Twenty-Three

Clark, Gillian, and Ralph did not have time to panic. Instead, they did the only thing they could--drew their swords and jumped into the fray.

The resounding clash of metal filled the room as the fight ensued. Gillian ducked, leaped, and parried with a fearlessness of one who had nothing to lose. Ralph fared admirably well, fending off attacks by men who were far larger and better-trained.

"Stand back-to-back," Gillian shouted, deflecting a blow and ducking another. She and Ralph backed up against each other, forming a two-pronged defense against their attackers.

Meanwhile, Clark's blade flashed through the air like silver lightning as he quickly and efficiently dispensed with the first knight to attack him, which wasn't very hard considering he was using his powers. In the melee, he figured nobody would pay very close attention. It wasn't long until he got to Hugh. "Where is the lady?" he demanded.

Hugh could only stare, having witnessed the man toss aside trained knights as though they weighed as much a feather. "If you're a warlock, why don't you use your powers—aaaacck!"

Hugh gasped for breath as a large hand shot out and grasped his neck, pulling him up until his feet lifted off the floor. "Last time, Hugh… where is she?"

"Go ahead and kill me," he rasped. "You'll never know."

Clark had neither the time nor patience for this. He tossed Hugh against the wall, striding over as the man slumped wheezing to the ground. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where is Blackwood keeping Lianne?"

Hugh was doubled over, coughing and sputtering. "Tower chamber," he finally gasped. "But you'll never get her… Blackwood's too smart for that."

"We'll see about that," Clark muttered. "Where is he?"

"I don't know… I'm not his keeper."

"Blood of Christ, you're useless." Clark dealt him a sharp smack--not enough to really harm him, just enough to knock some sense into him. "Maybe this'll jog your memory."

"I last saw him at the chapel," Hugh said, rubbing his head. "He was discussing his imminent nuptials with the priest."

Clark swore under his breath. But on the bright side, at least that meant Blackwood hadn't wed Lana yet. "I'll kill him," he vowed.

"Not if you're already dead." With split-second quickness the knight lunged at him, brandishing a dagger. The impact was enough to make Clark stagger backward, but the weapon glanced harmlessly of his ribs, the blade shattering as it did so.

Hugh could only stare in befuddlement at the broken hilt in his hand. "Dear God… you're inhuman!"

"Didn't I warn you not to screw with a warlock?" Clark promptly dispensed with the man via a quick and efficient blow to the head.

It soon came to his attention that Ralph and Gillian had their hands full, fighting off multiple attackers. He was about to come to their aid when Gillian shook her head. "Get Blackwood! We can handle this."

"Are you sure?"

Gillian nodded. "Go! Lana will never be safe as long as he's around!"

_Lana._ Still, he couldn't just leave Gillian and Ralph. If anything happened to them…

"Clark, she needs you. Get your arse out of here and kick his!" Gillian shouted, ducking as a blade whistled inches above her head. "I swear to God if you don't go, as soon as we get home I'm kicking _your_ arse!"

He could see there was no talking Gillian out of it. With a final concerned glance over his shoulder, he took off.

Blackwood was about to get what was coming to him.

Gillian and Ralph were beginning to tire. Clark had somehow managed to fend off all but two knights, but their training and physical strength proved too much for the college student and squire. Gillian winced as a blade slashed across her leg, opening a long shallow wound. "Goddamn!" she cursed, pain lancing through her injured leg as she stepped back on it. With renewed vigor she struck out, rewarded by the outcry of pain as steel struck flesh.

"You're paying for those hose, you medieval wanker," she snarled, lunging and attacking in a frenzy prompted by pure desperation. If she and Ralph got out of this alive, it would be a miracle.

Gillian heard a crash as Ralph fell into Blackwood's desk. With an outcry of rage she lunged, her blade cutting deeply into her opponent's thigh. She seized the distraction long enough to strike again, the sword sliding cleanly between his ribs in a blow that proved to be lethal.

Gillian yanked out the bloody blade, feeling vaguely nauseous. _God, what kind of life is this, killing just to stay alive_? As fascinated as she was with medieval times, she wasn't sure how much more of this crazy life-and-death roulette she could take.

She whirled around to glimpse Ralph, disarmed by his opponent and backed against the desk, knobby knees knocking in terror as his attacker raised his sword. Gillian grabbed the crossbow Clark had given her and fired, the arrow finding its mark in the knight's back.

Ralph shot her a grateful look, but barely a second later his blue eyes widened into perfectly round spheres. "My lady, look out!"

Gillian spun around, raising her blade instinctively. But before her assailant could strike he crumpled in a heap at her feet, a blade protruding from his back. Gillian looked up to see the last person she expected to see, standing there with a chalk-white face and trembling hands.

"Lianne!" Gillian cried. "What… how?"

"No time to explain," Lana said hastily. "What about you? What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, duh," Gillian said. "Clark's gone after Blackwood. We have to help him!"

"Clark." Lana's eyes grew bright. "He's alive?"

"Yeah… don't ask me how he survived getting stabbed in the gut like that, but he's fine. You sure he's not a warlock?"

"If he is, then I'm glad," Lana said, still reeling from the revelation. "My God, I thought he was dead!"

"Yeah, well, he might be if we don't hurry up and get there!"

Lana hastened after Gillian, with Ralph in tow. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked with concern, glancing down at Gillian's bleeding leg.

"I'll be fine," Gillian said tersely. "How about you?" For the first time she noticed Lana's split lip. "My God… did Blackwood…"

"He slapped me around a little, but he didn't force himself on me, if that's what you mean."

"Thank God." Gillian looked relieved.

The three of them continued their race through the keep, en route to the chapel. But they never made it that far.

"Let us drink," the woman said, smiling up at the man before her while holding a jewel-encrusted goblet. "On the morrow, when you wed Lianne, all that we wanted will be ours."

"Aye, it will." He smiled back, raising his own goblet. _Foolish wench._

"Fortune shall be mine… no more days as a servant." She gave a girlish giggle, the wine imbuing her pasty face with a reddish tinge. "Surely she won't mind… sharing you occasionally."

"You know I couldn't give you up, Eleanor." He smiled down at her, both amused and disgusted by the look of adoration on her face. Ah, but she was so gullible, so naïve.

He'd gotten all he needed from her. Alas, there wasn't much point in keeping her in the game any longer.

"The wine is excellent, my lord," she commented, raising her goblet yet again.

"'Tis the finest in the larder, brought back from France."

"Ah, the only good thing to come out of France is the wine," she cracked, giggling again.

"I wouldn't say that, my pet… you do remember the deal I struck with their fine king."

"Ah, yes… once we have Henry's lands, power and wealth beyond anything we've dreamed shall be ours. All that stands between it and you is a simple wedding ceremony."

"I think not," a new voice spoke up from the doorway.

Blackwood froze. _No… it couldn't be!_ And yet it was. Standing in the door like an apparition from a nightmare was Kendrick de Montclair, deadly intent burning in his green eyes. "I swore I'd kill you, Blackwood… and I intend to make good on that promise."

"Good God," Blackwood gasped. "How are you not dead?"

"Guess I have nine lives." A humorless grin stretched across his chiseled features. "Shall we finish this?"

Blackwood recovered quickly from his shock. Steel whistled through the air as he drew his blade. "With pleasure."

The two men faced off, staring each other down with the gritty resolve of two who knew that this was going to be the last time. Only one of them would walk away this day.

Silver flashed. Blades clashed. And so it began.

Gillian, Lana, and Ralph skidded to a stop in the doorway of the Great Hall. Lana wasn't sure how she knew it, but Clark was there. She sensed his presence even before she heard his voice, felt him even though she couldn't see him.

She rushed heedlessly into the hall with Gillian and Ralph quick on her heels. Lana watched with her heart in her throat as Clark and Blackwood battled furiously, leaping and striking while blades whizzed through the air in a silvery blur, the whistle of steel interspersed with the clash of metal against metal. Clark seemed to sense her presence as well; although he gave no indication, she felt something shift in the air, and he began to fight with a fury that surpassed even the duel. But Blackwood met every blow, attacking with skill and finesse, his superior training showing through with every move.

Clark was slowly being driven backward. Damn him for not using his powers. _Screw chivalry_, Lana thought. _Just kick his ass already!_

Blackwood and Clark's blades met and locked with a resounding clash. As the two men glared at each other, locked in a temporary stalemate, a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye caught Lana's attention. To her horror, she sighted Lianne's servant, Eleanor, lurking in the shadows, raising a crossbow.

One that was loaded with a brilliantly green-tipped arrow.

"Clark, look out!" Lana shrieked.

He whirled around just as Eleanor fired. Clark must've used his super speed, because the arrow never found its mark. A split-second later found him standing over Blackwood, the latter's sword in his hand, while the arrow embedded itself harmlessly into the wall. Eleanor bolted. Gillian fired at her with her crossbow, but missed. "Blast!" she cursed. "I'm going after her."

She took off, with Ralph behind her.

Meanwhile, Clark and Blackwood continued their standoff. "I can't even trust you for a fair match, can I?" Clark said contemptuously. Backing away, he glared at Blackwood. "Let's do this right. You and me. For the lady." With that, he tossed Blackwood his sword.

The second man looked on in amazement, then his expression hardened to a steely frown. "You should've killed me while you had the chance, de Montclair."

"Then I would be no better than you."

With an animalistic snarl Blackwood launched himself at his opponent. Clark parried, countering his attack with one of his own. The battle raged on, moving across the Great Hall, over tables and chairs, gradually edging closer to where Lana stood. Blackwood had lost his edge, fury and desire for vengeance eclipsing the cool collected demeanor he was usually known for. Instead, he was impulsive and brash, going by instinct rather than logic. Clark, on the other hand, was growing more and more confident as he realized his advantage. Blackwood was fighting a losing battle and he knew it, so he played the only card he had left.

A shriek rent the air as he grabbed Lana, hauling her to him and pressing his blade to her throat. "One move and your lady love gets it."

Clark froze. "You'll not kill her. You need her too much."

"Why shouldn't I?" A malevolent smile spread across Blackwood's face. "I've taken over her father's castle. With the wench gone, there's no male heir to pass it on to. I'm going to break you, de Montclair. The problem is, I've been going about it all wrong. Your weakness isn't those green rocks. It's her." Blackwood pressed the blade harder, eliciting a gasp of pain from Lana. "'Tis pathetic, the way humans are but a slave to their hearts."

"Perhaps," said Clark coldly, "but I am not human."

Lana swallowed, her throat bobbing painfully against the perilous blade. As Clark and Blackwood exchanged words, her hand slowly inched closer to Blackwood's belt. Her fingers grazed steel and she knew she'd found what she was looking for.

"Which, in this case, proves to be my advantage," said Blackwood triumphantly.

Too late Clark noticed that Blackwood had backup. Three people burst into the Great Hall, two of them knights, the third the traitorous Eleanor. The knights had seized Ralph and Gillian, and held the struggling squire and lady fast. Meanwhile, Eleanor whipped something out from under her belt, an amulet with Blackwood's heraldry carved into it.

A translucent green amulet.

Clark instantly doubled over. Blackwood lowered his blade. "'Tis a shame I'll never have you, my lady," he said regretfully to Lana. "But alas, perhaps I can have a taste before I send you to join your lover."

He grabbed her and hauled her against him, pressing his clammy lips to hers in what was more of a violation than a kiss. Lana shuddered with revulsion, but seized the opportunity to grab the hilt of his dagger. In a smooth, quick movement, she yanked it from his belt and drove it into his thigh before he had a chance to react.

Blackwood gave a sharp cry of pain, releasing her as he gazed in horror at the red spot spreading across his hose. "Wretched wench!" he raged. "Just for that, I shall kill you even slower!"

"Never!" Lana vowed. She lunged at him with the dagger, but was stopped when a small figure flew at her and knocked her down. Lana and Eleanor hit the floor together, the former struggling against a deceptively strong opponent. Still gripping the dagger, Lana slashed at the other woman's arm, hoping to make her drop the amulet. Eleanor squealed as the blade sliced flesh. The bloody amulet clattered to the ground just as Lana managed to wrench herself free from Eleanor's grasp. She evaded the other woman long enough to kick the amulet aside, but Eleanor grabbed her before she could escape. With a catlike snarl the servant flew at her opponent, grabbing Lana's wrist in an attempt to wrest the dagger from her.

Fortunately, the amulet was far enough away now that Clark was able to recover. He leapt to his feet and lunged at Blackwood, striking out furiously. The blade found its mark between Blackwood's ribs, the latter gazing on with a look of abject horror that would be permanently etched across his face. He staggered backward, collapsing against the wall, opening his mouth to speak but uttering nothing but a strangled gurgle.

"I'll see you in hell, Blackwood," Clark said, before turning and racing to Lana's aid.

She was still struggling with Eleanor. The servant had grabbed Lana's wrists, trying to force the blade around to point at the latter's throat. Lana found her last surge of strength and shoved the blade away from her. The force of the blow caught Eleanor off-guard, the blade sinking deeply into the servant's stomach before either woman realized what was happening.

Lana lay on the floor, unable to do anything but stare in horror in the seconds that followed. Then someone pushed the dying woman aside, pulled Lana to her feet. She looked down at the strong, familiar hands and then up into the beautiful eyes she was sure she would never see again save for in her dreams.

And if this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up.

She had but a moment to recover before Clark rushed to Ralph and Gillian's aid, although the latter two were doing quite well on their own. In the pandemonium, the lady and squire had seized the opportunity to fight back, and were giving their captors a run for their money. With Clark's help, the two quickly overcame the hapless men.

"Sir, you truly are a hero," Ralph said with admiration, but Clark's attention was solely on Lana.

She stood several yards away, eyes bright and hands trembling from the utter joy of seeing him again. Then she was racing to him, throwing her arms about his neck while he pulled her close. She pressed herself against him, as if to convince herself that he was really here and not just a dream.

"I thought you were dead," she murmured, tears clouding her vision as she looked up at him.

"Didn't I tell you I'd always come for you?" was his husky reply. Her response was to lift her face as his mouth descended upon hers, capturing her lips in a deep, stirring kiss that was both stingingly sweet and heatedly passionate at the same time. Her hands gripped his shoulders as her knees suddenly buckled beneath her, but his strong arms held her upright. She never wanted the kiss to end, the feeling of utter bliss, safety, and completion in his arms.

"All right, all right, you two… get a room, huh?" Gillian interrupted, but she was smiling.

Clark and Lana pulled apart, mildly embarrassed. It was so easy to forget anyone and anything else existed when she was in his arms.

At that moment, Lana was startled by the sound of a new voice, a familiar one. "It has been done," Isolde said. "Your duty has been fulfilled. On the morrow, you will return to your home."

Lana glanced around, but saw no one in the hall save for Clark, Gillian, and Ralph. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Gillian.

"Isolde… she said our duty as been fulfilled."

Gillian looked blank. "I didn't hear a thing."

"What duty?" Ralph asked. "And who's Isolde?"

Still rattled, Lana shook her head. "Never mind. I'm just glad this is all over."

"I'll say," Gillian agreed. "So what do you say we get out of here? This place is phenomenally depressing."

"I'm with you on that one," Clark agreed. Grasping Lana's hand, he flashed her a smile that made her tingle down to the tips of her toes. Then he led her out of the hall behind Ralph and Gillian.

Their journey had finally come to an end.


	24. Chapter Twentyfour

Chapter Twenty-Four

It rained that night. Langdon castle was typically cold and breezy, utterly silent save for the wind whispering through the battlements and the soft murmur of rain. But it all went unnoticed by Lana as she snuggled contently against firm warmth of Clark's body. She had sneaked into his room, unable to abide by spending what might be their last night here anywhere but with him. After spending the last twenty-four hours thinking he was dead, she wanted nothing more than to hold him, be near him, to be constantly and indisputably aware that he was indeed still alive. That once again, he had defied all odds and saved her. That nothing, not prophecies or evil barons or even their own lies and fears would tear them apart again.

As they lay tangled together, spent but sated in the aftermath of their lovemaking, Lana found herself oddly reluctant to leave behind this place where the strange had gradually become the familiar, where the perilous and bizarre world in which they found themselves turned out to be, in a way, a blessing in disguise. Not that she was particularly fond of the idea of spending the rest of her life in the Middle Ages. But had she and Clark not been transported back here, would they still have found their way back to each other? Thinking back to where they were before, going to class at Kansas U, trying to avoid each other while he lusted after a beautiful college coed, seemed so far away and long ago. Another world, another life.

Well, technically it was.

"Clark?" Lana murmured, glancing up from where her head rested on his muscular shoulder. "What do you think is going to happen when we wake up?"

"I don't know." He looked down at her, an errant dark curl falling across his forehead. His curls were getting long and unruly, seeing as he hadn't bothered to visit the village barber the entire time they'd been here, but there was something rakishly endearing about it. "If your vision is true, I assume we'll wake up back in our own beds."

"I suppose… and believe me, I'll be glad to see my room again." She sighed, snuggling even closer to him. "But then, I won't be next to you."

"Yes, we'll switch from sneaking around castles to sneaking around my loft."

She laughed. "Ah, the advantages of having a boyfriend with his very own loft. It's more privacy than most teenagers get."

"True. But then, the Talon has its possibilities, too… provided it's closed."

"Clark! I never knew you could be such a bad boy," Lana teased, grinning slyly. "And no red meteor rocks in sight, either."

In the silvery moonlight, she swore she saw a blush steal across those impeccably chiseled cheeks. She loved that. "Of course," she continued, "there's always your truck."

"Yeah… I imagine it wouldn't be too comfortable, though."

"I know, but come on… vehicular sex is like, a rite of passage. You've got to try it once."

"That sounds like something Gillian might say."

"Actually, it is," Lana admitted. "Gillian is very serious about these things. She said she really wants a roll in the hay before leaving Kansas. It's like a requirement after spending so much time in the Midwest. Of course, where she'll find someone to take that roll with, I don't know."

"I imagine she won't have much trouble."

"No, I don't imagine she will," Lana agreed.

"I think there's more to her than it seems… after she's had her fun, I think what she really wants is to just fall in love."

"Yeah… I get that impression, too. You know about the guy she left behind in England, right?"

"Yeah. I wonder what will happen with them."

"You never know… look at us."

"True." He smiled down at her, that smile that never failed to melt all logic and reason away like ice cream on a summer day. "Even if we did have to go back in time 800 years to get back together again."

"I wonder what will happen to Lianne and Kendrick once we leave," she murmured.

"Well, whatever happens to them, I hope they'll have their happy ending." He lightly trailed his fingers along the small of her back, the touch both tender and electrifying at the same time. "I know we did."

"And it's about damn time." Grinning, Lana closed her eyes as Clark captured her lips in a deep, achingly tender yet stirringly passionate kiss. Her hands came up to grip his shoulders as she sank deeper into the kiss, opening willingly for him as his tongue eased into her mouth and stroked against hers in a slick and sensuous dance. She was surrounded by him--his smell, his touch, his warm breath and soft lips, hair that slid through her fingers like silk and skin that whispered against hers like warm velvet. Love and want and need entangled in an intoxicating cocktail. It was a heady sensation that defied description, eclipsed anything else she'd ever felt before or even dreamed. _This_ was what she'd never known, been yearning for before she even knew what it was. Love. Completion. Consummation.

Clark's hands were everywhere, skimming the curves of her body, cupping her breasts, sliding across the flat expanse of her stomach to the sweetly sensitive spot between her creamy thighs. Lana arched toward him, pressing herself against his hand, her sex already throbbing and wet and ready for him. Lord, he could set her off with barely a touch. This was insane. This was amazing.

Her eyes found his in the darkness, deep green orbs that had darkened with a passion only she had ever seen. All for her. Only for her. "I love you," he whispered.

Words she'd heard before, dreamed of many times but could never truly allow herself to believe. They'd seemed so empty before. But not now. "I love you, too," she whispered back.

And he kissed her again, deeply, possessively, claiming what was his. Just as he was hers. In a smooth, continuous movement, he kneed her thighs apart and slid inside of her, burying himself to the hilt in her slippery warmth. Her insides closed around him, painfully tight, achingly sweet, her soft pulsations threatening to send him over the edge right then and there. It was too much, too much.

And yet not enough.

"Will we remember this when we go back?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I don't know." His voice was a tender caress. "I hope so… but if not, that doesn't change the fact that I'll always love you. We'll always find our way back to each other."

"Even across time?"

"We've done it twice."

"Third time's the charm." She smiled up at him, trust and love and hope shimmering between them, unencumbered by secrets and lies. All that was over. This was perfection--this moment, this love, this man. How could something like this ever last?

Yet, as she gazed into the vibrant depths of Clark's eyes, Lana knew that it would. Forever. She saw the promise reflected in his eyes, felt instinctively that he was thinking all the same things she was. And then all semblance of rational thought rapidly faded away as she gave herself over to the waves of blissful sensation, and he began to move.

Lana awoke to a sound she hadn't heard in weeks—the rumble of a car engine outside her window.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she realized with a striking wave of relief that she was indeed back in the Sullivans' house, in her own bed. A glance at the clock radio showed her that it was 7:30—time to get up and get ready for school.

And, to her relief, all the memories of her adventure in time were still intact. In fact, her body still felt pleasantly tender and a bit sore, as it always did after nights with Clark. _He's got some abilities, all right,_ she thought coyly, although given her lack of any previous experience, she didn't really have anyone to compare him to.

It was striking how everything was the same, as though she'd never left. A glance at the newspaper sitting on the Sullivans' front steps alerted her that it was the day after the last one she, Clark, and Gillian had spent in the twenty-first century. It was jarring trying to get back into that routine, trying to remember events that transpired weeks ago as though it had been just yesterday. But she had to admit she'd never been more grateful for the conveniences of the modern world, namely plumbing, electricity, and clothing.

She was at her locker when her cell phone went off. The display on the LCD screen alerted her it was Gillian. "Hey, Gillian, what's up?"

"Not much… just glad to be back home again."

"Seriously. I never realized how much I appreciated the conveniences of the modern world. Nothing like going back in time 800 years to give you a new perspective."

"Word. I got some insight the anachronistic society couldn't imagine," Gillian joked. "Not to mention that we've got some great sources for our report."

Oh, yeah. "We're still doing the tapestry?"

"Yup. So after school, you and Clark want to meet up at the library?"

"Sounds good to me. I'll let him know."

She was just hanging up when someone came up behind her and strong arms wrapped her waist. She smiled, nestling contentedly into the familiar embrace. "Hey," she said, craning her neck to smile up at Clark.

"Hey," he replied in that low, ridiculously sexy voice of his. "It's great to be back home again, huh?"

"I'll say. I never realized how comfortable jeans where."

"At least you didn't have to figure out how to fasten your hose and braies to your belt and tunic."

She laughed gently. "At least you didn't need someone to help you dress… and undress."

"Hmm, if I recall properly, I was more than happy to do that service."

"I just bet you were." Exchanging a sly secret smile with him, she leaned up to meet his lips in a soft, playful kiss. But Clark drew it out into much more, pulling her to him as the kiss deepened and intensified to the point that people walking by were turning to look at them.

"OK… apparently we missed something here," a wry female voice spoke up, jerking them out of their reverie. Mildly embarrassed, Clark and Lana turned to find Chloe and Pete looking at them with question marks in their eyes.

"Good morning, Chloe, Pete," Clark said, sounding ridiculously chipper.

"Yeah, apparently you two are having a really good morning," Chloe said dryly. "So tell me, when did you get back together?"

Lana shrugged, hoping her face wasn't as flushed as it felt. "I don't know… it just sort of happened, you know?"

"In the span of one night."

"Well, yeah… a lot can happen in one night." She couldn't help it—she sneaked a discreet glance at Clark.

Unfortunately, it did not go unnoticed by the unfailingly perceptive Chloe. "OK, too much information," she declared, looking vaguely nauseous. Pete, on the other hand, seemed barely able to control his amusement. Fortunately, the bell rang and saved them from a potentially awkward moment.

"I'll walk with you to homeroom," Lana said to Chloe, then turned back toward Clark and Pete. "See you guys later. Oh, and Clark? Gillian just called. She wants us to meet her at the library after school."

"That's cool." They exchanged "see yas," and the girls headed down the hall. Clark didn't use his super hearing, as tempting as it was, but he swore he heard Chloe say, "OK, Lang. Spill it. I want details. OK, well maybe not _some_ details…."

"Hey, those details she doesn't want? I want 'em," Pete said, grinning.

Clark's face turned almost as red as his plaid shirt. "I'm not sure the lady would appreciate it."

"The lady?" Pete raised his eyebrows. "You two are taking that medieval class far too seriously."

"Sorry, reading Chaucer all night," Clark explained disingenuously.

"So you and Lana are back together again, huh?"

"Yeah… I guess with all the time we've been spending together for that medieval class, one thing led to another."

"I thought you were into Gillian."

"I was," Clark admitted, "for a while. You have to admit, she's hot."

"Oh yeah," Pete agreed wholeheartedly. "So, seeing how you're off the market now, does that mean I have permission to go for it?"

"Knock yourself out," Clark joked.

"Think you could arrange an introduction?"

"Sure, I guess. I'll talk to her at the library this afternoon." He grimaced. "I am so not looking forward to writing that paper." Although suffice to say Middle English was no longer a problem for him.

Pete shook his head. "Man, I wish I had your problems… being locked in a private study cubicle with two gorgeous women for hours."

"Trust me, it wasn't that much fun in the beginning."

"Yeah, but all's well that ends well."

"True," Clark acknowledged, smiling to himself. Very true, indeed.

"All right, I think we're ready," Gillian declared, shutting the musty textbook with a decisive slap. She, Clark, and Lana had labored all afternoon on their project, and were more than ready to call it a day. Besides which, being stuck in such close quarters for hours without being able to do anything about it was driving Clark and Lana crazy. When they went to the stacks to fetch a book and didn't return for several minutes—without the book—Gillian didn't say anything, but the knowing look in her eyes was enough.

As much as it embarrassed the couple in question, Gillian was remarkably understanding about it. "Hey, you guys want to get a bitter at the campus pub?" she asked as they gathered up their books. "It's on me."

"Thanks, but we're not 21," Clark reminded her.

Gillian shrugged. "They never check ID. Besides, I know one of the guys who works there. I'll order a pitcher and no one will be the wiser."

Several moments later found them seated at a table in the noisy pub, splitting a pitcher of Newcastle and a large order of fries. "So I wonder what happened to Lianne and Kendrick," Lana mused.

"Oh yeah, I meant to tell you," Gillian said. "I spoke to my father last night. He just finished going through Christopher's memoirs. Apparently, there's a passage he never noticed. It was written by Lianne."

"It was?" Instantly Lana was at attention.

"Yeah. It tells about what happened with Kendrick. While the events immediately following his supposed death remain vague—although _we_ know the truth," she mentioned wryly, "It says that they met again. My father couldn't find anything else to explain how it happened—just that the account he previously read must've been erroneous and that Kendrick didn't really die—but anyway, following Blackwood's death, Lianne fled to France. But before she left, Kendrick did meet up with her again to say goodbye."

"Goodbye? Where did he go?" Lana wanted to know.

"Back to wherever it was he came from, apparently. He told Lianne he had a destiny to fulfill back home, or something like that. She begged him to take her with him. He said he could not. It wasn't fair to her, for he could never give her the future she deserved. He wasn't a part of her world, just as she couldn't be a part of his. He had to fulfill his destiny alone. It was all very mysterious."

"I'll say," Lana murmured, stealing a glance at Clark, who suddenly seemed very interested in a fry he was holding.

"But—and this is the supremely romantic part—he vowed that someday, in another time, another life, they would be together. He said Lianne's wise old friend—the witch Isolde—assured him of this. Isn't that totally like something out of a movie?" Gillian gushed.

"Yeah," Lana said quietly, smiling. "It is."

"Maybe Isolde was right," Gillian said, glancing from Lana to Clark. Lana wondered how much Gillian knew about Clark… if she still suspected he had special abilities, although she seemed to think they were supernatural rather than extraterrestrial.

But one thing Gillian was dead-on about was the happy ending. "I wonder if that's what she meant," Lana mused.

"Well, if it was, I trust you two won't do her wrong," Gillian remarked with a grin.

"Not if we can help it," Lana agreed, reaching out to rest her hand on Clark's.

"Man, you two are so cute, it's almost nauseating," Gillian kidded. "But you two inspire me, you know? Maybe there really is hope for the rest of us."

"There's always hope," Clark told her, giving Lana's hand a reassuring squeeze. The two of them had proven that.

And they didn't intend to ever put it to the test again.


End file.
